


Ozone

by femme4jack



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Multi, Spark Sex, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-08-22
Updated: 2012-03-05
Packaged: 2017-10-22 23:03:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/243552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femme4jack/pseuds/femme4jack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A cohort: bonded co-workers who share a common purpose, siblings, family, lovers, friends.  What happens when Autobot sparks decide, for better or worse, that short-lived human beings are part of their cohort?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ozone

**Title** : Ozone  
 **Prompt** : First section originally written for Prompt 1 for Botcon TF_Speedwriting. [Canned Heat - On the Road Again](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jcb-h8z1uQo%20)  
 **Fandom** : Bayverse (pre 2011 movie, not compliant with tie-in novel)  
 **Characters** : Mikaela Banes/Ratchet/Ironhide  
 **Rating** : M  
 **WARNINGS** : cussing, graphic xenophilia smut (mech/mech/human female oral, spark corona, tactile & neural stimulation) & mech/mech smut (PnP)  
 **Summary** : Mikaela's normal coping methods aren't working. Ratchet and Ironhide decide to help.  
 **Notes** : Thanks to the fabulous Merfilly for beta-reading the extended edition of this story. The last section is for you, hon. This was completely influenced by her recent delicious Mikaela-centric stories ([here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/178771) and [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/206979)). The non raunchy parts were also influenced by [Dwimordene's Bridges ](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/3773857/1/Bridges)(which is head canon for me, and the most frequently reread story on my favs). I especially loved the idea in Merfilly's story about Mikaela taking the place of Ratchet's microbots.  


* * *

****  


Ozone

  


* * *

It really wasn't a surprise to find herself alone and on the road again. Whether it was her dad or her ex-boyfriends, guys had been in and out of her life so many times she'd found a system for washing away the pain. When she'd been younger, she'd take long walks in the desert, sometimes all night long. Not like there was anyone who noticed.

When she was old enough, she rode. She'd grab a bike from the shop and hit the roads that wound their way around the mesas, preferably just before or after one of the monsoon thunderstorms left the air smelling like ozone. Seemed like the most painful parting of ways usually happened midsummer, the time of year when the thunderheads would mass over the Sierra Nevadas on a hot afternoon and begin their march to the east.

But this time, the ozone charged air was not helping her forget. It was too much like the scent of the sparks she had been working so close to. She had gotten to know that hair-raising, charged scent all too well over the years since she had taken the place of Ratchet's long deactivated microbot drones (her hands, laced with a spiderweb of scars from the cuts and burns, were a visual reminder of the hours clocked in close proximity).

Perhaps it was her imagination, but each spark smelt (and felt) like a different part of the storm. Bumblebee's was hair raising storm about to erupt, mostly calm, but with downdrafts from the approaching supercell that could hit you hard and even force you off the road if you weren't careful: the promise of a fury to come. Ironhide and Sideswipe's were the raging climax of the storm (Hide's the kind that came with golfball-sized hail), unleashing madness on the desert and filling the arroyos with flash floods that could cover a road faster than you could cross it. Ratchet's scent was the comfort of a storm that had mostly passed, of thirsty ground now quenched. You could still smell the focussed-fury in his spark, but it was also the more subtle scent of the late afternoon sun reemerging and warming the damp, desert earth.

Then there was Optimus. His spark was the entire storm. She could smell every one of them in him, and more. His spark somehow contained them all, and was both violence and gentleness and the sound of thunder echoing through the canyons.

She stopped the Harley at one of the arroyos flooded from the storm that had pummeled the Sierra foothills. She got off and sat next to the brown, muddy torrent, deeper than anyone unfamiliar with the danger would suspect. Soon enough, an engine stopped behind her, and its pitch and resonance, along with the unique melody of the transformation sequence that followed told her exactly who was there. But she would have known without the sounds. She could smell his spark.

She smiled.

She was such a little girl sometimes. She had _hoped_ one of them would follow her after word of the fight had spread as fast as comm signals. She had not _expected_ anyone to follow. No one had followed her before when she fled to the desert. But she had _hoped_.

"You believe that your presence with us is no longer valued, simply because you and your former mate have chosen to nullify your short-lived affiliation," he stated simply, but after spending her young adult years working so closely with him, she could hear the hurt in his slightly acerbic tone.

"You've had the materials to build a couple of drones for over a year, Ratchet. Even without sparks, they are going to be more useful than I am, and will last, what, like about a hundred thousand years longer than I will?" She tried to keep the little pouting girl out of her voice, but knew she failed entirely when he gave the electric version of a snort, and sat down beside her far more gracefully than anyone that large should be able. He offered her his hands so he could bring her closer to his optics, which she accepted, curling into the warmth that radiated through her leather.

"Drones aren't nearly as interesting to argue with, nor do they tell off my patients so spectacularly," he replied, the glint in his optics saying nearly as much as his words. "Besides, if I recall, you have been the one who has stuck with us all along, Mikaela," he added, acknowledging what no one had ever spoken before.

She shook her head, and finally laughed. Sam had been the one who had demanded to have the "normal" life, treating his best friend (thousands of years older and wiser then him) like some family golden retriever that he could give a pat and leave at home. She had been the one who had used her own money and contacts from the shop to scrounge parts, trying to locate the seemingly endless list of supplies Ratchet had requested before there was anything called NEST (or Budget Liaisons) in the Autobot vocabulary.

"Well, if you really can't make it work without me, I guess I can stick around and help out your sorry aft," she said with a smirk.

The fuck if she was going to let Sam take the smell of that ozone away from her.

* * *

She was curled up in Ratchet's passenger seat, the Harley in the back. There was no one on the winding roads through the mesas, no reason for her or a hologram to pretend to drive. The sun had come back out and steam was rising off of the ground as most of the rain that had fallen evaporated back into the thirsty sky. Ratchet was remaining quiet, leaving her to her thoughts.

Her most recent argument with Sam, the one that had finally ended things, kept replaying itself in her head like an iPod set to repeat. The accusations stung because they were true. She loved him because of the Autobots, not because of himself, and was far more turned on by having her arms deep in an alien chassis than touching her boyfriend.

The attraction to Sam had never been a physical one for her. Her physical attraction with men usually ended at their muscular biceps, or, if she were so lucky, nicely stacked abs. Sam had neither. Everything from the abs down, if she were honest with herself, was rather repulsive to her.

She had felt like such a shallow bitch admitting it to herself. She _wanted_ to be turned on by Sam, but her body just wouldn't cooperate. She loved him because he, even in his inability to say it, loved her. She hadn't been an accessory to his ego. She had been the object of his worship. And it felt good for a girl to be worshipped. Not to mention that he had given her the Autobots. How could she not love him for that?

But at some point, the lack of physical desire had taken its toll, especially when she made the mistake of admitting to him just what a penis didn't do for her, and what the scents and sensations of working so close to those sparks did. Then he had found her getting herself off in the room they shared on base, her arms slathered with Ratchet's silver burn gel from her latest minor injury. Sam was furious to see that she was hurt again. Or perhaps he was furious that she was masturbating when she'd turned him down earlier. It wasn't clear which.

What was clear was that an alien war, and their shared cocktail of wonder, fear and post traumatic stress was not enough to hold them together any longer, and Sam, in desperation for what he knew he was losing, was trying to pull her away from what had brought them together in the first place.

"We aren't going back to base?" she asked, coming back to the present enough to see the direction they pointedly weren't heading.

"You finally noticed?" Ratchet asked back, his rumble of laughter filling the very air around her.

"Ok, so where the hell are we going, doc?"

The Hummer turned onto a dirt road that was barely more than a couple of ruts, already mostly dry. The deep tracks were no issue for Ratchet's alien suspension.

"The beach," he explained, as though it were completely normal to be heading to Malibu on a forest service road in the middle of the desert.

"The beach," she echoed, dubiously. "Um, did you get hit by a null ray when I wasn't looking? Because there isn't a beach in the middle of the desert."

"You are limiting your definitions to the sort of beach one might find next to your planet's oceans. But according to your internet, a beach is simply the shore of a body of water, especially when sandy or pebbly. I assumed that though you have apparently consented to stay on and 'help out my sorry aft,' you also would prefer not to return to base until Samuel and Bumblebee have taken their own 'sorry afts' to Tranquility. I therefore selected a location far enough off the main roads that I can comfortably be in my root mode, and we can both enjoy some afternoon sun, though I would request that you apply some form of protection to your dermal layers."

It made enough sense. For all that the Autobots were giant death machines locked in a fratricidal war that spanned back longer than human civilization, they were also, to put it nicely, sun sluts. They all had specialized plating that allowed them to convert energon from solar radiation, and though it was a slower process, it was a far preferable fuel source for them than carbon based fuels, which led to the Cybertronian equivalent of putrid and painful gas. It was a rare day when at least one of them would not be found sun-worshipping like a lizard, either in alt mode, or, preferably, stretched out in root mode to allow the maximum exposure. _"It is like an all you can eat buffet that you don't have to pay for,"_ Bumblebee had once said. _"That your species doesn't take better advantage of it is completely baffling to us."_

"I hate sunblock," Mikaela muttered under her breath. "I have Cherokee, Mexican, and Italian in my genes. Don't need it."

"Dark pigmentation doesn't protect you from damage at the cellular level, girl. I can heal minor burns, not melanoma," Ratchet grumbled in response to the old argument.

"So what sort of beach are we going to?" she asked, deflecting him.

"Get out and I'll show you. Don't worry about the bike. I'll subspace it." The search and rescue Hummer stopped and opened his passenger door. She stepped out onto the soft, powdery brown-red dirt, patched here and there with sage brush, junipers, and chamisas. She recognized what must of been The Virgin River making a wide bend around one of the striated mesas. The tributary of the Colorado River was one of the few streams in the area that had water in it year round. By any other region's standards it was barely a creek, yet in the desert, if it had water in it year round, it was a river, even when it was only about ten feet wide and a few feet deep. There was a sandy shore by the bend, along with a grove of Cottonwoods. And a large black Topkick soaking up the sun.

Ironhide's presence shouldn't have surprised her. Ratchet and Ironhide tended to spend quite a bit of their off duty hours in the other's company, whether sparring, arguing, or interfacing. She had long ago ceased being embarrassed by walking in on any of the Autobots when their cables were out. It was as normal and non-private an affair for them as consuming a cube of energon. Though none in the cohort limited themselves to a single partner (jealousy was considered a glitch), Ironhide and Ratchet went way back, and enjoyed one another's company. A lot.

Which meant she could look forward to an afternoon of sunbathing and watching two mechs getting one another off via cables. Or possibly spark merging if they really were relaxed, she thought with a shiver, though that was usually more private simply out of the need to protect such a vulnerable part of themselves. Great. Just great. Single, broken-hearted, horny, and getting to watch two older than dirt over-smexed mechs get off on what she couldn't have. She knew Ratchet meant well, but sometimes they could be so completely dense. She should have brought a fishing rod along so she could have at least had something to occupy her time while attempting to ignore them.

The melody of Ratchet's transformation came from behind her even as she watched Ironhide do the same a few hundred yards in front of her. The green mech scooped her up unceremoniously and deposited her in the gap in his armor between his shoulder plating and neck, strapping her in with a silicone sheathed cable as he walked toward the weapons specialist.

"Took you long enough," Ironhide rumbled by way of greeting as Ratchet stood next to the taller mech.

"Didn't know you would be here," Mikeala explained, feeling inexplicably anxious about where the afternoon had suddenly landed her.

"Ratchet didn't tell you?" Ironhide asked, shooting a glare at the medic, his cannons spinning around once in annoyance.

"Tell me what?" she asked suspiciously.

"Mr. Walking Weapon here seems to think that you are in need of what you humans refer to as rebound sex," Ratchet explained dryly even as Mikaela tensed and froze.

"What!" she shrieked when she finally found her her voice, reaching down to unhook the cable holding her onto Ratchet's shoulder and scrambling down his frame with well practiced ease so she could cross her arms and glare up at both of them. It was a good thing she had been doing her kegels or she might have wet herself in shock. "What the fuck!"

"Calm down, girl," Ironhide commanded, kneeling down to look at her on a more even level. "Your systems are running so hot it's a wonder you don't spontaneously combust."

Mikaela's fists clenched in fury and, to her horror, she felt hot tears in her eyes. They had obviously heard the content of her arguments with Sam. Of course they had. It wasn't like the mechs' audios would have been weak enough not to hear what the two had been screaming at one another. And now, on top of losing the first guy who had really loved her, she was being mocked by two bastard-fucktard-machines who couldn't keep their audios off. "How dare you!" she hissed. "So what, you can't keep your fucking audios out of our arguments, so now you are mocking me?"

"What?!" Ironhide roared, standing up suddenly and backing away, his cannons whirling again as he raised his hands in objection. "No! Oh, frag this, I'm too old for this slag, Ratchet. You explain it to her."

"Explain what?" Mikaela yelled, whirling to face Ratchet, tears streaking down her face. "That you know why Sam dumped me? What he accused me of?"

"Mikaela," Ratchet said cooly, in the voice normally reserved for mechs who were losing it in Medbay. "Please calm down. I do not wish to have to sedate you. You are misunderstanding the situation entirely. We are not mocking you."

"What the fuck are you doing, then?" she asked miserably, not able to look at either one of them as she pressed her fists into her eyes, trying to get the tears to stop.

Ratchet vented and said something high and piercing in their own language to Ironhide, who promptly pulled out two glowing cubes and a much smaller bottle from subspace, handing one of the cubes to Ratchet. Both mechs sat down, one on either side of her. Ironhide, almost sheepishly, if he could ever be described as sheepish, handed her a bottle of Jack Daniels.

She grabbed it, but continued to stand, glaring back and forth at the two mechs on either side, and didn't take a drink when the other two did.

"Mikaela," Ratchet began in a far gentler tone than he had ever used with her before. "I'm sorry that we have further upset you. That was precisely the opposite of what we intended. You misunderstand our intentions. We are not mocking you. Yes, we know what you and Samuel have been arguing about. And we know that your former mate is correct - that you are physically aroused around us and not around him. How to respond to this has been a puzzle to us. We don't monogamously bond the way your culture is inclined to believe it should. There is nothing wrong with arousal. What is very wrong, from our point of view, is allowing someone we care for to become so wound up, and doing nothing to help out. But to have done so, or even to have offered, interfered with the social norms and rules of your pair bond with Samuel, as far as we could ascertain."

"You're part of our cohort, girl," Ironhide added, sounding intensely exasperated. "We take care of our own."

Mikaela forced herself to close her mouth, which was wide open, and collapsed onto her ass between the two giants.

Both were looking at the river, not at her, but she could _feel_ their sensors trained on her, their spark fields making the hair on her arms raise as they overlapped with her in between. She didn't try to say a word, but instead unscrewed the bottle and took a very large swallow which burned its way down her throat and made her cough. Without a word, Ratchet handed her a bottle of water, which she gulped down, before taking yet another drink of the whiskey. She tried to focus on breathing normally, lowering her racing pulse, and, most importantly, stopping her tears.

The mechs continued to wait for her, silently. As old as they were, she had come to understand, they had no issues with protracted periods of silence and inactivity.

"Ok," she finally said when she could trust herself to speak without crying. "Let me see if I've got this. You can tell that I get turned on when I work on one of you, and barring Sam, you would have been offering to get me off."

"That is a simplistic explanation, but yes, that is essentially what we are saying," Ratchet replied evenly.

Mikaela took another drink to fortify herself. "Why?" she asked, plaintively, sounding as pathetic as she felt.

Ironhide turned his head and looked down at her as though she had grown a second head made out of turkey bacon. "Why wouldn't we?" he asked, incredulously.

"Um, let's see, because I'm a fucking human and you are...not...human?" she tried to explain, but even to her own ears, she sounded ridiculous and pathetic.

A low growl came from both of the mechs, a dangerous sound that made her gut twist in a mixture of fear and the same shameful desire she felt every time she could smell a spark.

"Why in Primus name would it matter to us that you are a human?" Ratchet asked archly. "You are part of our cohort. That means something to us, Mikaela. But if you find the offer offensive..."

"No!" she objected. "Shit!" she exclaimed, standing up, pacing in front of them, her body whirling in a chaos of arousal, frustration, shame, and excitement that she had no ability to control or understand. "I'm...I'm not offended. I'm just...this is just a hell of a lot to swallow, right after what just happened. I...I never expected that anything remotely like this to happen."

"Nothing _has_ happened," Ironhide grumbled, "other than you showing, once again, how tightly wound you are and just how much you need to overload before that charge starts to melt your circuits, along with how glitched your kind is when it comes to physical intimacy."

She took another swig of the whiskey, ignoring Ratchet's look of disapproval. "Were you planning on getting me drunk before having your way with me?" she said shakily, trying frantically to ignore the way her hands were trembling, the heat that was settling between her thighs and the way her heart seemed to be skipping beats.

"Blame that on lug nut, there" Ratchet said, reaching to extricate the bottle from her hand before she dropped it. "I instructed him to bring you some fuel. Somehow that translated into his half-clocked processors as human high grade. And no, I would much rather you be sober and enjoy yourself. That is all we are offering. You are part of our cohort, you have been physically frustrated and in emotional pain, and we want to help."

"Help. By having sex with me. How does that even work?" she asked weakly, knowing that she had already given them their answer.

Ratchet and Ironhide gave one another a look that was downright raunchy before turning back toward her. Ratchet raised his optic ridges and Ironhide held out his hand to her in invitation. "Demonstrations are always more satisfying than explanations," the black mech said in a tone that could only be called dangerously seductive.

"Oh fuck me," she whispered as she began stripping out of the leather of her riding gear and running back to the waiting hands.

* * *

"Oh fuck! Oh fuck yes! Oh my God, don't stop, oh fuck me!"

Mikaela'a upper body was writhing in Ironhide's hands over his unlocked chest, tendrils from the corona of his bright white spark reaching out between the plates to lick against her naked skin, each touch making her entire body tingle. The silicone-sheathed cables normally used to hold her in place on a shoulder were wrapped around her breasts, and holding one of her arms above her head while her other hand rubbed along them frantically. Her legs were spread wide by two of the same cables, and Ratchet's broad face was in between them, his glossa large enough to cover her entire crotch as he explored every inch of her folds with the nimble, smooth appendage.

Both of the mech's frames shook in barely contained amusement and arousal at her exuberant and demanding shrieks.

A specialized cable containing a half million microscopically fine filaments extended from Ratchet's wrist. "Want to plug in, sweetspark?" Ironhide asked in Ratchet's stead since the CMO was otherwise occupied. The cable had been designed to give Ratchet direct neural connection to their human allies in life or death situations on the battlefield. It just had never occurred to Mikaela that it might have another, far more intimate use. Ratchet and Ironhide's own ports were wide open, and their cables began seating themselves in both their main thoracic interface panels and the subpanels located under their pelvic plating.

She froze for a moment, her eyes widening as she realized what they were offering: to share sensations, to feel what each were feeling, at least as well as her own brain and body could process the sensations. The technophile in her, which was already doing cartwheels like Boots the Monkey, began doing backflips as well. Why hadn't she and Sam broken up sooner? Fuck it! Why hadn't they said screw convention and culture and just joined in on what was nearly always going on in one form or another on base, barring battle or recharge?

Ratchet paused, pulling away from her, making her whimper and try to grab onto his face with her legs.

"It is only an offer," he said, far too gently, mistaking her expression for reticence. "We are curious about what this feels like for you. It will help us make this even more pleasurable for you since your interface systems are so different. There is nothing dangerous, but don't feel obliged to consent," he said carefully, reaching out a hand to stroke her wildly strewn hair.

Mikaela almost cried. Now was not the time for careful, patronizing explanations; she was so fucking close! "I said don't fucking stop!" she hissed, lunging at Ratchet's face with her legs and reaching her one free hand to grab the offered cable, holding it to the back of her neck where she knew, from having seen it in use, the nano-filaments would painlessly integrate into her brain and central nervous system.

"Smart girl," Ironhide rumbled, his chest plates cracking a bit wider to allow more tendrils from his spark to snake around her even as Ratchet's nano-filiments made themselves at home. The first burst of shared sensation had all three making a variety of noises that sent all the native wildlife fleeing. Accompanied by a loud rev of his engine, the CMO's glossa did a figure eight around her sex before plunging in, a single thrust sending all three over the edge.

* * *

She might have passed out. Or perhaps died and gone to heaven. She wasn't sure. The next thing she knew it was dark, though plenty of heat was radiating from the plating she was sprawled out on like some nude model in an automotive calendar. Then she heard a familiar, much-loved engine, accompanied by an even more familiar ozone scent, followed by a deep baritone voice as another mech pulled up next to them in his alt form. "Please excuse the interruption," Optimus said before he transformed and stood tall, silhouetted by the full moon, gazing down on the lurid scene with bright optics. "I understand a member of my cohort is in need of what her species has designated as 'rebound sex'."

"Oh fuck me," Mikaela whispered, her heated face breaking out into a broad grin.


	2. Green-Eyed Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam struggles to come to terms with Autobot understandings of relationships

**Title** : Ozone 2 - The Green Eyed Monster  
 **Fandom** : Bayverse (pre 2011 movie, not compliant with tie-in novel or movie, AU)  
 **Characters** : Sam Witwicky, Bumblebee  
 **Pairings** : implied Mikaela Banes/Autobots  
 **Rating** : R  
 **WARNINGS** : cussing, implied xenophilia  
 **Summary** : Follows "Ozone: The Raunchy Xenophilia Edition". Sam struggles with Autobot ideas regarding relationships.  
 **Notes** : Written for the August 2011 Resurrection Challenge (using the Jealousy Challenge as my inspiration). I plan on writing for several of these old challenges this month as part of this series.  


This takes place simultaneous to Ozone part 1. I will admit, this fic is partially an exercise in working out my frustration about how Sam's character was developed in both RotF and DotM in regards to both his attitude toward Bumblebee (could we please stop guilt-tripping a very seasoned warrior for doing his job now please?) and what I can extrapolate his attitude toward Mik would be based on how he speaks to Carly, who apparently is not allowed to smile at her boss and whose success is apparently a threat to Sam's manhood. Yeah...Sam and I have some issues we are working through. And yes, my Bee tends to be pretty talkative and, thus, OOC in terms of Movieverse canon. Don't get me wrong, there are other aspects of Sam's character that I truly enjoy and admire (especially as he is developed in some of my favorite fanfics by Sakon76, Steelfeathers, Botosphere, and many others) but the insecurity-possessiveness thing really gets to me, so he gets a chapter of his own before I return to Mikaela's xeno adventures.

* * *

Green-Eyed Monster ****

* * *

  


Sam slumped miserably in Bumblebee's passenger seat, dark-tinted windows not requiring that he or a hologram even pretend to be driving. He couldn't believe he had actually gone through with it. He had been angry...furious even. But to have actually broken up with the most beautiful, talented, intelligent woman who ever could have hopes of getting naked with...

He always thought it would be strong biceps on a brainless jock that stole her affections away. But it turned out that Mikaela was attracted to strength of a different sort, and no matter how much body-building he did, his wiry frame would never compete with massive frames filled with wires.

"Do you wish to speak about the argument you had with Mikaela?" Bumblebee's real voice filled the interior of the Camaro, for once not resorting to sound clips.

"What's there to talk about. It's over. She's not mine any more. Hasn't been for a long time. I just don't...measure up," Sam said flatly.

He swore he could smell Bumblebee's frustration with him in the very air, like some ozone-scented irritation. Sam knew Bee had been holding his peace about his failing relationship with Mikaela. He knew it from the silent treatment he got every time he had whined (and he knew he was whining) about how much more time she spent studying with Ratchet than she did with him.

Tonight, as they drove toward Tranquility, away from the base where she spent far more time than he did, Sam couldn't take it. "Just say it, Bee. Whatever you are thinking. I know you blame me for this. Just fucking say it."

The car rumbled around him, and the vents in the dash blew cooled air in something that sounded a lot like a sigh. "I do not blame either of you, Sam. It has been clear, from a physiological standpoint, that you have not been together for some time, though sexual intimacy is not the only means by which humans form their connections. However, while I understand that it is normal in your culture to speak possessively about your partner, and that your species has a history of proprietary ownership by one gender of the other, I must confess that I have found your language about ownership of Mikaela disconcerting. It is very much a taboo in my own culture."

"What? I never said I owned her. What the fuck, Bee?"

The Camaro did not respond with his own words, but with Sam's, replaying phrase after phrase.

"She's not mine any more..." "Why the hell is he looking at her like that. Doesn't he know she's mine?..." "I saved the world, twice! You think I'd at least get to keep the girl..." "I...I just wish you would spend more time with me when I'm around. It's like you're Ratchet's rather than mine..." "Why don't you hang out with me any more, Bee? It's like your not my car anymore..."

Now the last one just wasn't fair. Sam wasn't under any allusions that Bumblebee was really _his_ car. Was he?

"That's just how people talk, Bee. Are you saying I drove her away by being too possessive? It wasn't like I insisted she come back East with me for college or that we move in together or something."

"Sam," Bumblebee said in a voice that reminded him just how much older his car was. "Your relationship with Mikaela, at least the sexual aspect, may have been fated to end simply because of the differing levels of physiological attraction you held for one another. But your friendship with her, a far more important bond, in my opinion, has long been clouded by your jealousy and possessiveness. Mikaela comes from a very different set of circumstances than you. Instead of celebrating the life she has been working hard to create for herself and the skills she has gained working with Ratchet, or even asking her about what she has been learning, you consistently have complained about the time she was not spending with you and your resentment of her mentor. I must admit I found myself wondering if she would have spent more time in your company and maintained more of her sensual interest in you had you shown interest in what she was learning about and who she was becoming."

Sam sat with his mouth gaping open, stunned. When he finally spoke he sounded stunned. "I was interested. I...I was just worried about her. She kept getting hurt or burned and shit like that. I just wanted...to keep her safe, that's all."

"Do you truly believe Ratchet would allow her to come to any harm, Sam? And aside from that, it was her choice to make. This is the same person who knowingly drove back into battle so I could engage Brawl. Perhaps your desire to _keep_ her, safe or otherwise, was part of the problem."

Sam gave a sullen sigh. There was no arguing with the car. It wasn't like Bumblebee really understood human relationships. The Autobot was getting all hung up about the words Sam used, words which were totally normal things to say. Wasn't "be mine" something imprinted on the little candy hearts for Valentines Day? Besides, Mikaela had all but admitted to being attracted...in a sexual way... to the Autobots! Which was so many levels of weird and wrong he didn't even know where to start. So he had good reason to be jealous of all the time she was spending in Ratchet's domain!

"Maybe if she didn't get off on it so much I wouldn't have been so jealous," he muttered quietly, crossing his arms and glaring resentfully at the radio.

The silence in the car was thick, a physical force, finally broken by Bee's quiet voice. "Do you truly believe it is wrong for Mikaela to be physically and emotionally aroused by her interactions with my kind?" he asked in a tone that sounded utterly confused and hurt.

Sam rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Well duh, of course! She's...she's a human. You are...autonomous robotic organisms. You are a different species. Its totally weird! Wait...you mean you and the others don't think its bizarre?"

"We do not consider it is strange at all. She is a sentient life form, and her energy resonates with our own in a pleasing manner, much as yours does. Whether that energy resonance is expressed through friendship, camaraderie, sensual pleasure, or working for mutual goals, it is all a part of the means by which bonds are formed between sentient beings. This is something we deeply value."

Sam opened and closed his mouth like a fish several times. Honestly, he liked it better when Bumblebee spoke through sound clips. At least his car was less likely to break his human brain when doing so. "Okaaaaaaaaaaaay...let me get this straight. You think the attraction is normal...and it resonates with you...you are attracted to her, too?"

"Completely normal, yes. I find both of you to have very pleasing energy resonance, though I recognize that our shared resonance will be expressed through the bond of friendship without the accompanying sensual pleasure that would be normal in my culture, Sam. Now that you no longer have what your culture considers a proprietary claim on Mikaela, we will offer to strengthen our cohort bond with her through the sharing of pleasure since she so clearly desires that, physiologically and emotionally."

Sam heard a high-pitched squeak, and realized that it had come from his own mouth. "I...fuck Bee...just...stop. It's bad enough that I lost my girl, but now I lost her to my car...who is going to be doing her...along with...the rest of the Autobots...just stop."

Bumblebee just sighed.


	3. Evil Jock Concubine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikaela decides to get in the truck.

**Title** : Ozone 3 - Evil Jock Concubine  
 **Fandom** : Bayverse (pre 2011 movie, not compliant with tie-in novel or movie, AU)  
 **Pairings** : Optimus Prime/Mikaela Banes  
 **Rating** : NC-17  
 **WARNINGS** : cussing, mentions previous neglect and physical abuse of a child, explicit xenophilia (tactile contact with spark, energy penetration)  
 **Summary** : Follows immediately after [Ozone: The Xenophilia Edition](http://anhrefn-hyfryd.livejournal.com/28245.html). Mikaela decides to get in the truck.  
 **  
**

 **Notes** : _Thanks to the fabulous Aniay for the beta._

 _Written for the August 2011 livejournal flesh_and_steel comm's Grab Bag Challenge (using the Lost in Translation Challenge as my inspiration this time). I plan on writing for several of these old challenges this month as part of this series.  
_

 _Wow, you are still reading this after my totally grumpy Sam chapter that I wrote under the influence of massive hormone imbalance? Thanks!!! I hope this one makes up for the last._

 _The original sources of my head canon for pleasurebots and their high esteem in Cybertronian society are Lola Hard's scrumptious (and sadly incomplete) Jazz/Maggie story,_[ _Morning Tea_](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/3919241/1/Morning_Tea) _, and Lyricality's oh-so-hot_[ _Seven Days_](http://tf-fic-squee.livejournal.com/12060.html) _(link goes to a fic rec that lists all the parts).  I must also give a shout out to a more recently awesome take on that theme, Ultharkitty's_[ _First Times_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/219904/chapters/331059)

 _My head canon on Cybertronian cohorts (and so much about their culture in general) is a direct result of Dwimordene's_ _[Bridges](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/3773857/1/Bridges), which I read _ _over and over and over again. It is the most frequently reread story on my bookmarks, and I probably should just give it a credit every time I write._

 _Merfilly's delicious Mikaela/Optimus story,_[ _Shared Journeys_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/206979) _, continues to have a huge impact on this one as well, because I think I'm sharing a brain with her right now, or at least feeding off of her far superior one._

* * *

 ****

Evil Jock Concubine

* * *

  


 _Previously on Transformers...._

 _She might have passed out. Or perhaps died and gone to heaven. She wasn't sure. The next thing she knew it was dark, though plenty of heat was radiating from the plating she was sprawled out on like some nude model in an automotive calendar. Then she heard a familiar, much-loved engine, accompanied by an even more familiar ozone scent, followed by a deep baritone voice as another mech pulled up next to them in his alt form. "Please excuse the interruption," Optimus said before he transformed and stood tall, silhouetted by the full moon and gazing down on the lurid scene with bright optics. "I understand a member of my cohort is in need of what her species has designated as 'rebound sex'."_

 _"Oh fuck me," Mikaela whispered, her heated face breaking into a broad grin._

A grin which promptly turned into a nervous teasing of her lip with her teeth as she felt the looming presence regard her as though he were thoroughly examining her down to the cellular level, or perhaps to her soul.

"That was, indeed, my plan, if that is what you wish," Optimus finally said as he knelt down next to his recharging weapons specialist and CMO, extending his hand. "Though the ambient temperature in the desert becomes becomes quite low at night, and according to Ratchet's earlier report, you have not nourished yourself since this morning. Perhaps you would like to accompany me back to base to refuel before we proceed to your desired activities?"

Mikaela was thankful that her Cherokee heritage was hiding her blush, but then remembered that little things like skin pigmentation did not hide anything from the mechs who were now, apparently, her cohort...whatever that meant aside from outlandish propositions and even more outlandish orgasms.

"Um...yeah...food would probably be good...thanks?" She did feel hungry...and a bit shaky, though the shakiness could have everything to do with Optimus instead of low blood sugar. She was suddenly all too aware of being buck naked, her nipples almost painfully hard, as she climbed onto the large, warm, metal hand that cupped around her. Optimus stood. Was he planning to walk to base? Suddenly she felt him shifting, and he smoothly and elegantly transformed around her, leaving her comfortably naked on the passenger seat in his cab. Inside him. The thought left her feeling more awed and aroused than it ever had before. _Oh fuck,_ she thought, _I'm so going to leave a wet spot on his upholstery._ Even as his engine rumbled to start, the glove compartment opened, and she saw that Optimus had brought along a change of clothing for her - including her nicest matching bra and panty set. How was it possible for an ancient giant alien being, or anyone, for that matter, to be so thoughtful?

She stifled a giddy giggle at the thought of Optimus lying on the floor outside the apartment she shared with Sam on base, reaching through the door with his massive hand and smashing her dresser, only to go through each item one by one with his hand that she could fit so comfortably in.

"I was concerned that your other clothing might have been lost or...perhaps damaged in the afternoon activities," his voice rumbled around her, like a baritone caress.

"Oh...yeah...thanks Optimus. I don't really remember what happened to my riding leathers. That was...really thoughtful of you," she answered, sounding to herself like a nervous little girl.

"I hope you will forgive the intrusion, but I asked Maggie Madsen to retrieve something appropriate for you," Optimus explained, sounding, if possible, slightly sheepish.

Mikaela felt her cheeks heat even more. That explained the excellent choice in undergarments. "Um...did she happen to ask _why_ you needed clothes for me?" No matter how free-loving and openminded the Autobots apparently were, the mechanic couldn't imagine many humans sharing their tolerance for this. Maggie might be one of the more tolerant, but Mikaela was certainly not ready for any human to know just what...and who...she was doing.

"While it is not in our nature to be discrete or dishonest about matters of intimacy, I realize that you may wish to keep such matters private, Mikaela," Optimus explained. "I informed Maggie that you were in need of a change of clothing because yours became wet when you were riding in the rain. This was not inaccurate based on Ratchet's report to me when he located you."

Mikaela was quite certain she would still have some explaining to do later, but found herself strangely relieved that she wasn't about to become known to the entire base as the Autobot's slut. The very thought made her shift uncomfortably as she pulled on her panties, clasped the bra, and followed with the t-shirt and denim short-shorts. Suddenly that was exactly what she was feeling like: the slut everyone in high school had accused her of being. She and Sam had broken up, and within a few hours she’s had the most mind-blowing sex she could ever imagine with not one, but two mechs, and had every intention of doing the same with a third. What did that say about her?

"Is something on your mind, Mikaela?" Optimus asked in that tone that had her gut doing a little dance. It was a tone she didn't have a hope of resisting, and, like always, made her want to spill everything that was running through her head.

Several times she had found herself spilling her guts to Optimus Prime about things she would normally would have kept completely to herself. She had learned young to rely on herself and show a carefully crafted public face to the world at large. There were so many things she'd never even told Sam, just because there was no way, coming from the sheltered and privileged family he did, that he would be able to get it, and she had not wanted to face the hurt she would feel when he awkwardly failed to understand or gave her pity she did not want. But Optimus Prime, the ancient leader of a advanced alien race, had a way of showing keen interest in things that should not have concerned him, but did, and then asking just the right question at just the right moment.

Which had led to her telling him the gory details about growing up with a mom who had died in an overdose and a dad whose degree was in grand theft auto. Optimus knew about the times in elementary school she had eaten as much as she could at the hot lunch program because there had been no breakfast and would be no dinner. He knew that Mikaela's life of crime began with getting caught steeling food from the 7-11 when she was four because her mom, higher than a kite, had sent her in and told her to get herself something to eat when she'd been in tears because she was so hungry. He knew that after her mom had died, her dad had moved them to Tranquility to get her away from his father-in-law, because turning the scum bag in for beating up his grand daughter would have opened a whole can of worms that could have landed her dad in prison for a second time far earlier than it eventually did.

He knew all of this, and didn't see her as some wounded creature to be pitied. Instead, he had a way of challenging her to find the best in herself and rise to any challenge. Just as he did with his Autobots.

It was the tone of his voice, the power of his presence, and the scent of his spark that drew it all out of of her, both the honesty and the strength. Apparently it was a Prime thing, and she wasn't immune to it. She had watched from a distance as Ratchet ranted and raged, only to be pulled close, sparks flashing in the night until whatever demon the medic faced was settled. She had watched him brutally spar with Ironhide, and then sparkmerge with him as energon streamed down their frames, knowing how much the weapons specialist had needed to let off whatever pressure was about to cause him to blow. She had seen Bumblebee curl up on his lap like a child and keen, and Sideswipe grin and babble at Optimus like some dorky kid rather than the seasoned, arrogant warrior that he was. Over the couple of years she had been living on base, at one time or another she had watched every Autobot open themselves to him, ports, sparks and all.

And now he was turning that attention on her, asking her if something was on her mind. And there most certainly was.

"Just not sure what to make of all this...I'm sort of...well...embarrassed may not be the right word for it. I just never expected it," she managed to say haltingly.

"Ironhide's indelicacy and Ratchet's outspokenness are enough to put any sentient being into disequilibrium," Optimus said with a chuckle. "But dealing with the unexpected is not the only thing that is concerning you," his tone invited her to continue.

"It's...I don't want to sound offensive...but..." Mikaela did not even know how to say what was suddenly eating her up (a phrase which, in itself, made her body shiver in all the right ways with the mental image of the things Ratchet had done to her with his glossa)

"You are physically aroused, but emotionally confused?" he offered.

"It's more than that," she let out in a rush, pulling up her lean muscular legs and hugging her knees to her chest, looking down. Everywhere she looked, she was looking at him. She was surrounded by him, could swear that she could physically feel the tingle of his nearby spark, which in this form was right underneath her, if she recalled. "So, you know in high school I had a reputation...Sam's friend Miles, after we hooked up, always called me the evil jock concubine. It was his idea of a joke."

"But not one that was truly funny."

"No. I hated it. But he wasn't wrong. I was pretty much a whore. A slut. Honestly, Sam was the first guy I ever dated that I didn't sleep with on, or before, the first date. Sex was something that I did really well, and I could keep someone wrapped around my finger with it. It kept me in control. Before Sam, I was never with anyone for much more than two or three months at most, and usually I slept with someone else long before we ever broke up. I liked being able to look some arrogant jerk in the face and tell him that all this time he thought he owned me, I was doing his best friend. I wasn't a good person, Optimus. Miles was right. I was a total whore. I let people use me and I used them."

Optimus was quiet for longer than felt comfortable. "Are you concerned that expressing your desires in a physical manner within our cohort reaffirms this aspect of identity, or is a return to earlier patterns of behavior you felt you had moved beyond?" Optimus finally asked gently, his voice seeming to come from the very air around her rather than originating from one place.

"I...I know it's different. I...I think the way you big guys do this is better, and it never occurred to me that you'd do anything other than...you know... politely ignore the way my body was reacting to being close. But I just broke up with Sam today. I feel...I feel like I should feel dirty or guilty. Because going and sleeping with one, or even several guys was exactly what I used to do when I dumped someone or he dumped me. And some stuff is hard to get out of your head. My mom called me a fucking slut and a whore before I even knew what those words meant, and I sure proved her right after she was gone."

There was a low rumble around her, and Prime's engine gave a loud rev. The smell of the ozone in his cab immediately took on a far more storm-like quality, and her hair stood on end with a sudden static charge. It actually made her flinch, aware of just how dangerous and violent this mech around her could be. Just as quickly the seat she was in warmed, and the static charge to the air was replaced by gust of heated air from his vents.

"Forgive me, Mikaela. I did not intend to frighten you with my anger," he said in a calm tone that did little to hide that his anger was still present, but restrained. "What you describe about your mother is very alien to me, and my spark reacts to it violently. Though I mourn, for you, the loss of your female parent, it is probably a good thing that I will never meet her."

"It sort of sucks that you can't help but to love your parents and believe what they say when you're little, no matter how fucked up they are. Part of the human condition, I guess," she mumbled, not sure what else to say, but finding some strange comfort in the mental image of Optimus having a confrontation with her mom. "So...you said alien. You know, I spend so much time getting off about the stuff that is alien about you, that I forget how alien we are to you," she commented, trying to create a bit of distance between herself and a painful topic.

"Indeed," Optimus said. "Cybertronian has over 30 million distinct glyphs, all of which can have their meaning modified through pitch, tone, and other modifiers. And yet there are words in your language we have no concept for. While we may understand what you mean when you say it by the context you use, they are completely alien ideas for us."

"Like what?" she asked, her fascination helping to distract her from the constant mantra of _Autobot whore_ going through her head.

"Well, this conversation is an ideal example. We have no equivalent glyph for the words _slut_ or _whore_. The closest we can come are glyphs that have no negative connotations for us. Enjoying interfacing and doing so freely with many is considered a highly admirable personality trait. And doing so as a core function, becoming exceptionally skilled at it, was one of our most highly regarded professions prior to the war. There was no stigma attached to being a pleasure companion or seeking the company of one. In fact, one of the members of my cohort was a master-level pleasure companion prior to the war. Yet, if we were to inform humans of this fact, they would regard this mech with derision and consider his function to be a shameful thing."

"Who?" she asked eagerly, suddenly fascinated. What he described just sounded so right...so whole and beautiful in a way that everything about sex in her upbringing was not.

"Jazz," Optimus said with a chuckle. "Once he comes out of stasis he will quickly become a master at sharing pleasure with your species if you allow it. You won't know what hit you. I must admit, our cohort-wide interfaces have not been the same without him.

Mikaela had to bite her hand to stifle a moan at the thought of cohort interfacing, her body forgetting about the anxiety and shame and getting hot all over again. She distracted herself from the temptation to begin rubbing her hands along Optimus's interior by thinking about Jazz, still in light stasis after Optimus had used the Matrix of Leadership to restore his guttered spark. The silver mech's memory core had been partially damaged during his time in deep stasis, when his spark had barely been an ember held on by support systems that could do nothing more to restore it. Ratchet was slowly repairing the damaged parts of his core and restoring his memory files using the backup he had made prior to their arrival on Earth, but it was a time consuming process - one that she had the privilege to help with as she worked with Ratchet to patiently restore Jazz's frame. She knew the hair-raising scent of Jazz’s spark now that it was whole again, and could hardly wait to actually get to know the mech she had helped to repair.

"Hopefully you'll be able to enjoy that again soon," she said with a grin.

"And you as well, Mikaela, if you wish to. You are a part of our cohort."

She blushed again, rubbing her neck. "You all have said that. It...I'm not sure what it means. What's a cohort?"

Optimus made a humming sound, then began speaking in the tone Mikaela recognized as his teaching mode. "The word I am using in English is not a good translation of the concept. It is...the foundational organizing principle of our society, or it was before our society fell. A cohort is a group who shares a bond and are united by a common purpose. Teammates, colleagues, even family are all concepts from your language that fit, but it is much more. Cohorts on Cybertron created new members when there was a function that needed to be filled. Every living Cybertronian originally onlined as part of a cohort, and were welcomed, mentored, and knew they belonged to something greater than their own spark. Ones cohort was family, sibling-creators, lovers, and colleagues all in one."

"We are intensely social creatures, and need such ties," he continued, though he could have been reciting the phone book and she would have enjoyed the lesson just as much. "Our scientists believe that we were once part of a hive species, in essence, a single being in which individuals were more like the cells of a large living organism we refer to as Primus - the first. Our species developed autonomy and sentience, but never lost our need to be part of a whole. Megatron rejected the concept of cohorts and cohort bonds, felt they prevented us from realizing our full strength and potential. In some manner he was correct - cohorts and the castes they were a part of had become rigid, and it was illegal and nearly impossible for someone to leave a given cohort or seek a new function within one. But cohorts are also our greatest strength, and we are very unbalanced, even dangerous without one. War ripped our cohorts apart, but we now form them by choice, and choose our functions within them. Our sparks recognize you and several other trusted humans as part of our cohort, though whether you agree to that affiliation is, of course, your choice."

"Why me?" the words tumbled out of her mouth before she could even think. "I'm...honored...blown away by it, actually, but why?"

She felt Optimus come to a stop and realized they were on base, though he didn't open the door. "It is a function of our sparks. We saw you, Sammuel and William Lennox put your bodies on the line to fight a battle that was not your own. My spark could not fail to desire you as part of our cohort after Mission City, and every choice you have made since that time has confirmed that you have chosen us. To use a term from your own culture, you have made us your family of choice. You are a sister to us, Mikaela Banes."

* * *

  


His words had left her speechless, but whole in a way she had not felt in a long time. She had longed to be a part of them, and now she realized that she actually was, and had been from that fateful moment when she decided to drive Bumblebee back into battle at Mission City. Sure, it had been to save the planet, but that had not actually been where her mind had been at the time. She had gone back into battle for the Autobots and the human soldiers who were going to die without Bee's help. She and Bumblebee had looked at one another and she had been part of the cohort ever since uttering the words, "I’ll drive, you shoot."

She knew Optimus was right. She was a part of them, and there was nothing in the world that she cared for more than than the Autobots, and she included Sam in that "cohort". She knew the Sam felt it too, and was sad and angry they could not share this realization together, but instead had fought over it. Sam had always resisted the connection, even though at all the critical moments he had risen to the challenge and accomplished the impossible. He longed for a normal life that he would never be content with, and she was afraid that if he ever really got it, he would only find himself half-dead inside because normal was so overrated. Maybe someday he would understand.

Optimus had let her out just outside of the human mess hall where she could grab herself something to eat. Transforming, he had knelt down and asked in his all too polite manner if she would still enjoy spending time in his company once she had refueled, and had expressed concern about her need for rest.

The inner voices that accused her of being a whore and slut were far more easily quelled as she looked into his bright optics that were so focused on her. It had been easy to tell the ghost of her mom to stick it up her ass and shut the fuck up. "Yeah...yeah I would," she had answered, feeling her entire body tremble at the idea.

And now she found herself in, of all places, Prime's personal quarters where she had never before set foot. It was a simple space, mostly taken up with a flat slab of a metallic substance that conformed to his shape, easily large enough for several mechs to share, along with a work surface, chair, and some shelves with the few personal items he kept, mostly gifts that had been given to him by various ambassadors, heads of state, and Annabelle Lennox over the years. The one surprise was a large flat screen that took up nearly half a wall. He admitted that he enjoyed watching human movies and television programs in real time rather than digested at the hyper speeds his processors were capable of.

 _I'm going to have sex...or something a lot like sex...with Optimus Fucking Prime,_ the little girl part of her said in a sing-song voice as he placed her on the berth. She felt equal parts giddy, terrified, and shy. More gracefully than anything that large and metal should be capable of, he arranged himself on the berth so that he was lying on his side, his optics even with her. The static charge literally made her long hair stand up on end, and there was something in the way he looked at her, and the strong ozone scent of his spark that was now permeating the room, that made her wonder if he was feeling every bit as excited as she was.

"Mikaela," he said her name in a warm tone that could quite possible make her come if he said a few more words, "I must admit that, in terms of interfacing with a sentient being not of ones own species, you are now the more experience partner." Warm air from his vents blew her static-charged hair around as he spoke.

"Is that a nice way of telling me I'm a slut?" she asked in a teasing tone, surprising herself with her own boldness as she scooted even closer to his face so she could run her hands over the complex components.

"Only if by that term you mean someone who enjoys sharing herself with others who cherish her," he responded, and she felt her heart swell and tears fill her eyes at the words.

"Oh fuck it, you are just too good," she whispered, unable to resist putting her tiny lips on one of his massive ones to taste it. She had no idea if the touch did anything for him, but she felt a tingle run through her body at the connection.

"I wish to make this good for _you_ , Mikaela. I have all the relevant data on what is pleasant to your body, but I must admit I am at a loss as to how to even begin. Only medics have the coding to properly use an organic neural interface cable, and your species does this so differently than we do. We are not as highly tactile in terms of our frames, though our sparks are another matter."

She paused, considering. "Maybe instead we could figure out what I could do that would feel good to you? I mean...the two stooges didn't give me much of a chance to explore," she scooted herself down several feet and placed a hand on the split in his windshield, directly above his spark, knowing that there was at least one part of his frame that was highly erogenous.

There was a low rumble from his engine and she felt the plating underneath her hand heat up. She had worked on the cables and wiring around spark chambers before and knew how sensitive that part of a mech's internal anatomy was. Now that she knew she could, the idea of using her tiny hands, in a way that did all the right things for him, was intoxicating.

Thankfully, Optimus was not so chivalrous as to refuse such an offer, or perhaps his culture's ideas about chivalry included the notion that receiving was every bit as noble as giving. "I would never object an apprentice of Ratchet exploring my internals, Mikaela," the mech responded in a tone that was pure sex.

He rolled over to lie on his back, scooping her up and placing her on his chest plate, causing her to ride along as it slid back, revealing his internals. Her body was illuminated by the bright light of his spark, encased in a crystalline material harder than anything known on earth and connected to his various systems by a dizzying network of conduits, cables, and wires. She felt a swell of pride as she was able look at the array and make sense of the artistry; she knew where each cable led, and what it did. Below his spark chamber was a modification Ratchet had made for the Matrix of Leadership, and a second bright light spilled from the cylindrical opening. She felt a moment of awe, being this close to the ancient artifact, the last of the thirteen Matrixes, which Optimus had believed lost with Sentinel Prime, but could, apparently, travel between the dimensions and end up in the hands of one worthy of it; first Sam, and now the person underneath her.

She knelt at the edge of his chestplate, looking in, overcome with awe and humbled at the trust inherent in his opening to her this way. A large finger stroked the side of her body from head to foot before pushing up on her ass so that she was straddling it. He gently pressed against her crotch, drawing a gasp from her. "Quit distracting me," she hissed, swatting his finger playfully. "I won't be able to figure you out if you keep that up."

"Then perhaps you would be so kind as to undress and get in, since I have already undressed for you?" he said in a teasing tone that held a hint of impatience. "Ratchet reported that your energy takes on a different quality when you have no external coverings. Something about the vulnerability..."

She shook her head and laughed, scrambling off of his all too tempting finger to quickly strip, throwing everything including her ruined wet panties to the side. "I supposed it would be asking too much for you all not to compare notes about me?" she asked in a mock-exasperated tone.

"Comparing notes will only to be to your own benefit, but if you insist..." He once again wiggled his finger so it was beneath her, bringing his thumb to stroke hard pink nipples and her bumpy, dark aureolas. But before she could tell him off for distracting her again, his hand closed around her and he placed her inside his chest cavity in a space next to his chamber but relatively free of any wires that could damage her skin. _Get to it,_ was the unspoken message. She giggled nervously.

"Forget about it. I just want you all to be you. I know you talk about everything. Autobots are worse gossips than the high school cheerleading squad," she babbled, doing nothing to hide just how nervous and excited she was. She felt his whole frame vibrate in laughter, and then shudder as she reached out and ran her hands along a highly sensitive conduit leading from his chamber to his processors. "Is that okay?" she whispered, suddenly uncertain.

"Indeed," his voice again seeming to emanate from all around her, hungry and wanting in his own far-too-patient way. "You may freely touch any of the insulated cables and conduits, the chamber itself, and when you are ready, the outer layer of my spark." His corona was licking against the crystal of its casing, reaching for her. Her head swam in anticipation. She already knew what the pure bliss of first Ironhide's, and later Ratchet's, spark coronas had felt like as they caressed her skin, exploring her 'unique bio-energy fields' (as Ratchet had explained on their second go around). It was a fancy way of saying that she tasted good to their sparks, on a fermion and bosonic level. _Hey baby, how about my bosons and your bosons occupying the same space and get our fermions interacting...in a very sexy way,_ her mind supplied a cheesy spark pick-up line.

 _Here goes nothing,_ she thought as she went to work in earnest, lithe hands stroking the array of cables stretched out underneath her, playing them like a musical instrument. Her mind automatically cataloged where each led and its function in an silent song that would have made the dictator named Ratchet proud. _Delta branch of the main neural line, beta node of the sub-primary processor's energon conduit, power circuit for transformation cog alpha-ten, and oh, hello there sensor node! Gonna make Optimus Fucking Prime come, fuck yeah!_

Apparently she was good, maybe even fucking amazing because the massive frame under her convulsed and the voice of the vast majority of her wettest dreams was growling her name in warning, followed by a series of hair rising sounds in his own language. Then his hand physically placed her on his spark chamber, which she proceeded to gleefully make love to with her entire body (it was just about her height), as though it were the tastiest thing she had ever gotten her lips, hands and thighs around.

"Aaaaaaaaah...Mikaela," she was rewarded by his response. "Your energy is so bright." She felt as much as heard his voice.

His chamber opened, and she felt her body begin to float above his emerging corona. He was levitating her the same way he had levitated the Matrix when he had rekindled the embers of Jazz's spark. She was wrapped in tendrils of spark energy, each one sliding along her body in manner that was more physical than anything she had ever felt, yet somehow beyond physical as well, as if the glowing strands were sensuously massaging her body with pure emotions. She might have been moaning, crying, begging, and shouting his praise, but she could not hear herself over the unearthly song of an energy that was alien to her world, yet somehow knew her and found kinship with the particles (or were they waves?) that made up her own quantum self.

She thought she heard delighted, rumbling laughter as a thick strand of his corona played along her body until it reached her sex, then delved inside, straight up her chakras in an explosion of bliss.

* * *

  


Several hours later, Ratchet peeked in on them, and was surprised to see Optimus fully online. He was lying on his back with the tiny, blanket-wrapped recharging form of the youngest member of their cohort cupped in his hand at chest level, allowing his field to gently interact with the bio-energy of her own, soothing her back to sleep when she stirred at the sound of Ratchet's footsteps.

:: Enjoy yourselves?:: Ratchet asked, settling his frame next to Prime's on the large berth designed to accommodate far larger partners than the one Optimus had spent his evening indulging, gently cupping his own hand along Prime's own in a protective and affectionate gesture for the human who rested in its safety.

::Indeed. I would have been quite content simply to bring her pleasure and watch her bio-field brighten. I...had not anticipated how pleasing the sensations would be for me. An organic alien with no spark, yet my spark knows her and had no issue connecting with her on some level. It was remarkable.:: Prime had seen wonders across the galaxies, and sounded as though he had found one of the rarest.

::Then they must have sparks, only different from our own, something that does not show on sensors, but which our own sparks know. I felt it too. Didn't really even need the cable to properly interface, though don't get me wrong, the cable was slagging amazing. So oddly tactile, and their little overloads aren't so little.::

::I felt. I'd never seen her so bright. Normally they are just a flicker. No harm done, I trust?:: Optimus asked as felt Ratchet initiate a scan of the sleeping form.

::Slight damage from the ultraviolet radiation. I have a nanite cream for it.:: Ratchet pulled a metal container out of subspace and handed it to Prime, who immediately subspaced it himself. ::She has had far more significant burns simply working on our systems. The cream will reverse any cellular damage, and I get the impression that her enjoyment of rubbing it in was a source of some of her conflict with Sam. Just imagine how much she'll enjoy having it applied by someone else. Warm it up; it will make the effect even more pleasant for her.::

::I'm certain it will,:: Prime gave a silent chuckle, not wishing to disturb the human in his hand. ::Recharge with me, and you can help me take care of our little sister when she wakes.::


	4. Sexual Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bumblebee is hurting. Mikaela helps.

**Title** : Ozone 4 - Sexual Healing  
 **Fandom** : Bayverse (pre 2011 movie, not compliant with tie-in novel or movie, AU)  
 **Pairings** : Bumblebee/Mikaela Banes  
 **Rating** : R  
 **WARNINGS** : Xenophilia (tactile, spark), cussing.  
 **Summary** : Bumblebee is hurting. Mikaela helps.  


 **Notes** : _Once again, written for the August 2011 livejournal flesh_and_steel comm's Grab Bag Challenge (using the Awkward Moments Challenge as my inspiration this time, though, it turned into more of a ranty, angsty moment, but I tried)._

 _Dedicated to Lunamione7, who was the first ff . net reader to find the seven secret words in chapter 1. She requested Bumblebee/Mik, which was way harder to write that I thought it would be, but also a fun challenge!_

 _Credit to April Raven for the concept of Guardian bonds from her marvelous story[A Universal Concept](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5169543/1/A_Universal_Concept), to Dwimordene for her ideas about cohorts in [ Bridges](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/3773857/1/Bridges) and the verb "to teek" (referring the Cybertronian sense of EM fields) from [ All That You Can't Leave Behind - ch. 4.](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/3896514/4/All_That_You_Cant_Leave_Behind) Jazz's rapid reboot program was inspired by a similar code in Hearts of Eternity's [Where You and I Collide](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5578593/1/Where_You_and_I_Collide)._

 _Thanks to everyone who is taking the time to leave feedback! It is so encouraging, and means the world to me. I try to respond to everyone, and if I missed you, I'm so sorry. I have little kids and sometimes I get distracted._

 _Speaking of feedback, lots of folks are asking for more humans to get into the mix, so I thought I'd leave a note about it._

 _As appealing as it is to write about some of the other characters having their special 'Bot time, my plan is to keep this story Mikaela-centric. It is a story about her discovering what it means to be part of this cohort, both the good and the bad, with lots of cultural missteps on the way. I am writing it because I'm bummed she wasn't in DotM. So this is my little gift to her, because she deserves much better than she got. In fact, she deserves Autobot butt massages and chocolate!_

 _That doesn't mean it isn't possible other humans will have their moments, but they won't be the focus. More will be revealed about certain humans in this chapter. The exception to this is Sam. My intention is to keep him as a central character in the story. It is in character for him to redeem himself in a fantastic manner in the end after behaving like a twit, so I want to make sure that happens._

* * *

 ****

Sexual Healing

* * *

Mikaela looked up from scrubbing the caked sand and dried energon off of a transformation cog with a toothbrush as the door to the main section of the medical hanger opened. Bumblebee, back on base after a couple days in Tranquility with Sam, walked into the storage room where she was cataloging and cleaning the final crate of parts recovered from the battle in Egypt, nearly two years past. He was slumped over, doorwings low, dragging his feet, and looking the picture of drama-bot dejection. "You don't look so good," she said as he gave a mournful little warble in hello, followed by Tammy Wynette, proclaiming in song, _"Stand by your man!"_

"Aw babe, I know. I'm so sorry we split, but don't feel torn in two about this. Your Sam's. I get it."

Bumblebee's vocalizer gave a pained, static-filled sound as he sat down next to her and put finger on her back, urging her up on his lap. _"We are family,"_ The Pointer Sisters sang in response as she climbed on and made herself comfortable as she could leaning back against his abdominal plate.

"Oh, the cohort," she smiled softly. "Yeah...we are family. But Sam's part of that for you, too, right?"

 _"Does he love me? I wanna know,"_ Aretha sang right back at her.

"Oh, Bee, of course he does. Sam's crazy about you. He just...well...he's trying so hard to just be a plain old normal human, you know? The AllSpark changing him, saving the world twice, dying, coming back...it all scares the living shit of him, and...you know how he is. He just sort of reverts into his twit mode and tries to pretend it'll all go away if he just has a normal life. Whatever the hell normal is."

 _"Welcome to mutant high,"..."Mankind has always feared what it doesn't understand,"_ Bobby and Magneto proclaimed in turn.

"You've got it, pretty bot," she reached behind her and stroked some of the cabling in his relatively unarmored abdomen.

 _"Goodness, gracious, great balls of fire!"_ was her reward, and she pulled back as though it had been shocked, only to find that he was gathering her up in his hands and pulling her to face, his optics looking at her with an intensity she had come to recognize from the others. _"See me, feel me, touch me, heal me,"_ Tommy pleaded.

"You really want to? Jesus, Bee, Sam's not gonna understand. You get that? I don't ever want to come between you two."

He just continued The Who's refrain, his thumb stroking her back, looking at her...looking so deep. She closed her eyes. It was too much.

"I want to, Bee. I really do. Just...tell me in your voice, your own words. Explain to me how this is okay, to hurt him like this. I feel like I've hurt him so much already."

"You are cohort, Mikaela," came the soft voice, emphasizing the word as though it should explain everything. "He would be, too, but he won't allow himself be. After everything that has happened, he keeps leaving us, forcing me to choose. Please...my spark hurts so much from it."

"I don't want to be his substitute," Mikaela warned, meeting his optics again with her own calculated look.

 _"Accept no substitutes,"_ Samuel L Jackson's voice replied, but before she could scold him for regressing, he answered himself, "Never. You are cohort, he is cohort, but you understand it. You feel the bonds and are pulled in rather than being repulsed and running away. I'll be his guardian for his entire lifespan, and even after he is gone, that bond will be here," he put one hand over his spark. "But right now, my spark wants to know its little sister."

How could she say no to that? Not when she could feel just how pained Bumblebee was, almost like the pain was inside her as well. It _was_ in her, because she wanted Sam as cohort, too, now that she knew what it meant, and she could see just how much pain his rejection was causing. Sam was like a comet, suddenly brighter than any object in the sky, and then just as quickly far beyond the Kuiper belt. It hurt them each and every time his orbit took him away, whether the distance was physical or emotional. There was no doubt that he would continue to return, but after watching the pattern happen enough times, it was also doubtful that he would ever settle into a simple geosynchronous orbit.

 _And when did I become such a geek in my own head?_ she thought briefly, before smiling at Bee and deliberately placing a very wet, and very human kiss on his circular mouthplate.

 _"Come on baby, light my fire,"_ The Doors encouraged her, but something in her still held back.

 _Damn it,_ she thought, _I still feel guilty about this. Fuck you, Sam! Why do you have to make this so complicated?_ Bumblebee felt it too, and pulled her slightly away from him, giving another mournful warble. _Speaking of the Doors,_ she thought, looking over Bee's shoulder. There was the door to the medical storage room. And there was Ratchet, silhouetted in it. About to berate her for fooling around while on duty? No...closing it, sending a signal for it to lock, and walking toward them.

Something told her that the two were speaking over comms, or maybe even the cohort bond they shared. She wasn't sure how she knew, but she knew. It was frustrating that they could have a conversation about her, with her right in the room, and she couldn't even hear it. Of course, they just as easily could have spoken their own hair-raising language, which simultaneously thrilled and irritated her ears, but at least it didn't give her a headache like it used to.

"Alright, what is the problem here," Ratchet asked, sitting down beside them, sounding like some exceptionally irritable relationship counselor. She climbed up to Bumblebee's shoulder, reaching to give his sensor horn a squeeze in comfort. _That_ was a mistake, because Bee gave an electronic moan. While the others might not have frames that were all that sensitive to tactile contact (save the obvious places in their internals around their spark chambers), Bumblebee, as a scout, was, quite literally, covered in sensors. She knew this. She'd studied his schematics. But as she felt him shudder underneath her and watched an arc of blue light streak out from between his locked chest plates, she got the feeling that there was more to it than she'd ever realized.

"I'm the problem," she answered, trying to figure out some place to touch Bee in comfort that wasn't the equivalent of petting him on a hot spot. Instead, she awkwardly folded her hands into her lap, which made him warble again. "Well, Sam and I are, at least."

"But you and Samuel no longer are affiliated in that manner," Ratchet said, testily. "Your bio-energy wants to complete the circuit. Bumblebee needs to. I do not understand the issue."

"Jesus, Doc! Cut me some slack," she protested. "Sam I broke up a little over forty-eight hours ago, and wham, I get seduced by a horny pack of mechs who make the 60s look like the Victorian England. I'm just worried about what this is going to do to Sam and Bee. I don't want to get between them, and from Sam's point of view, his newly ex-girlfriend will be boinking his best bud."

"Which is why our sparks should never have claimed him in the first place!" Ratchet ranted, truly angry, making her flinch. Bumblebee felt it, and took her back into his hands, holding her to his chest and making a series of noises that even she could tell equated with cursing the medic out.

"Mute it, Bumblebee," Ratchet cut him off. "How can I not say it, when I'm the one who has to help your systems compensate for the damage you sustain because your spark is fractured. I always said nothing good would come of forming these bonds."

"What!" Mikaela cried, horrified. She wasn't sure what horrified her more: that something was, actually, broken in Bumblebee's spark because of the incomplete cohort bonding, or that Ratchet had been against it in the first place, but yet had turned around and made love to her more thoroughly than she'd ever imagined in her wildest fantasies.

Ratchet looked at her severely, but then his expression softened, and she felt...something...it was more than her imagination. _I don't regret you,_ it said, somewhere inside of her. "Bonds are a tricky thing for us, Mikaela," Ratchet entered full-on lecture mode, but without the anger. Bee slipped her back onto his shoulder, but kept his hand protectively around her. "There is a reason Megatron rejected them, said they weakened us. Once we initiate the protocols that cause our sparks to bond, if something goes wrong with it, our sparks begin to degrade. To have a bond rejected, or to lose it to deactivation, does real injury to a spark. Regular merging within the cohort can counteract that, but Bumblebee is away most of the time, as Sam's guardian. And that is a whole separate issue right there. Sam has never, truly, accepted the guardian bond Bumblebee has formed. Not at the quantum level where it matters. He may have said he wanted Bumblebee to stay with him, he may trust Bumblebee to be there when he needs him the most, but something in him rejects us, pushes us away, and we feel that in our fermions. Bumblebee spends the majority of his time away from his cohort, who could help him, with a person who may be his friend, in human terms, but rejects him on a quantum level in all the ways that matter to us."

Mikaela was stunned, and sat gaping at the CMO. When she could finally speak, she shook her head and deliberately placed her hand Bumblebee's neck cabling. There was no way in hell she was going to add to whatever injury the scout was already suffering from. At the same time, something about the whole situation suddenly bugged her, and had her suspicious. "I just...why did you all initiate the bonding protocols with us without figuring out first if we were the kind of people who would...you know...complete the circuit? Sort of doesn't leave us with much choice. Either accept this bond or damage to the souls of people we care for."

 _"I can't help falling in love with you,"_ Elvis Presley crooned from Bumblebee's speakers.

"You didn't initiate it," she answered her own question. "It just happened."

"When I complained that no good would come of it, it was after my spark insisted you were cohort," Ratchet said flatly, but once again she felt a surge of acceptance and even joy from him, despite his tone. "In a way, it is Optimus's fault, not that he needs to carry around any more guilt than he already does. We original arrivals are what remain of the personal cohort he formed around himself in order to remain sane when Megatron rejected their bond and murdered his original cohort. The Prime's cohort is...different than others. He is the hub, we are the wheel. If he cohort-bonds, we do as well. It is part of the protocols we all took on when we became cohort to him. We aren't sure exactly how it happened, because normally the formation of a bond must be a conscious decision, with protocols activated and new subroutines written to encourage its formation. Nevertheless, once the energy of the AllSpark finished discharging, Optimus became aware that he had formed a cohort bond with specific humans, and that the guardian bond he has with the sparks of his own people also included the people of Earth."

Mikaela blinked several times. "Well...shit."

"Yes, a pit-spawned situation that will only cause extreme pain to all of us, in the end. Do you understand what it means, that Optimus has a guardian bond with every single Cybertronian spark and now, every human being on your planet?"

"I...I guess...no...but it sounds...painful?" Mikaela said softly.

"Every time a Cybertronian spark is extinguished, Optimus feels it, and it damages his spark. Can you imagine what war does to a Prime? Thank Primus his spark is so strong, a true Prime spark, but spark damage can lead to processor erosion, and if it weren't for his cohort, he would have gone mad with the pain eons ago. You are cohort, Mikaela, You need to understand this. Sometimes the damage is greater than we can counteract, and he does go mad. When it happens in battle, it is usually, nominally, for the best because we rarely lose, but then after, he suffers even more from having extinguished those he was bonded to as Guardian."

"And now he feels every human death the same way?" she answered, truly afraid.

"Thank Primus, no. I do not think any of our sparks would have survived that. It seems that his spark understands that as a biological race you are short lived and that your bio-energetic patterns are meant to be released back...to wherever they come from...in fairly short order. But if your planet and your species is itself at risk, his guardian protocols kick in. He now, quite literally, is tied to this planet. He must try to save your kind if it is at risk. And to do that, he must break his guardian bonds with those who reject him and would destroy you."

"I thought Megatron was the Guardian," she blurted out, overwhelmed with what she was learning.

"Of Prime," Ratchet explained. "The Lord High Protector's function was to be the Guardian of the Prime and Guardian of Cybertron as planetary body. Individual sparks, other than the Prime's are not his core concern. Prime is the Guardian of each individual spark, from its emergence from the AllSpark to its return. We were never meant to be a species that makes war on itself, Mikaela. To do so...it breaks us. We are all damaged at spark. More damaged than even a cohort can repair."

 _It might have been nice to know all of this before I 'completed the circuit' as he put it,_ Mikaela briefly thought before dismissing it. The bond was already formed, and nothing Ratchet was explaining would cause her to choose any differently. She had already made her choice long ago, and had accepted it. Touching their sparks...completing the circuit, as they said, simply finalized what was already well underway. Which brought up another question. "Is rejecting the bond harming Sam, too?"

"Uncertain," Ratchet said. "We truly do not understand why we are able to bond with you at all. A cohort bond should only be able to be formed mutually and consciously. But you are different. It is possible that you subconsciously influenced your bio-energetic patterns to initiate the bond with us even as Prime initiated it with you. You do not even have sparks that register on our sensors, yet something in our sparks recognize something akin to a spark in you, and can form a bond, albeit one the feels different to us from what we share with one another. We have no access to your thoughts or memories. But we can feel _you_ , the essence of you, and can feel ourselves wanting to take that essence within ourselves and leave something of us behind. And..." he hesitated, as though he wasn't quite able to believe what he was saying, "we know that it is healing to our sparks to touch you, more so than when we merge by ourselves. I did the scans several times. It is...extraordinary," he admitted.

 _"And when I get that feeling, I want sexual healing. Sexual healing, its good for me,"_ Marvin Gaye crooned through Bee's speakers in agreement.

"Does it have to be...sex?" she asked, suddenly thinking of Sam. A lot of what was going on between her and her "family" would break his brain. But she _could_ see him being willing to touch Bumblebee's spark, if he really understood what it meant.

Ratchet snorted. "Of course not! Sex combines genetic material for procreation. We didn't even have sex with you, by that definition. But must it involve sharing physical, erotic pleasure? Goodness no. It is healing for us simply to have you embrace the bond at whatever level your own sparks exist - likely on some quantum level in a dimension we have not discovered yet," he said dismissively as though he were talking about weather patterns. "In terms of completing the circuit, allowing our sparks to merge with your bio-energy is what truly is important. Do you think William Lennox would want _Ironhide_ to engage him in heavy petting?"

Mikaela's eyes got wide, both at that image and the sudden realization that Ratchet hadn't exactly said who the "specific humans" were...though now that she thought about it, she did recall Optimus saying something about Will. "Will, too?" she asked.

"You, Samuel, Will and Robert," Ratchet confirmed. "The humans who, in their own ways, chose and trusted us on the basis of very scant evidence that they should."

"And they know?" she asked, incredulously. Bubmlebee tilted his hand back and forth in a so-so motion.

"Robert knows and accepts only on an unconscious level. We can feel his acceptance, and it reflects in his actions. Will has suggested that Robert might 'freak out,' as you say, if he understood consciously. But he doesn't reject it, and we can feel that. Will has known from very early on, and has touched Ironhide's spark, thanks in part to the good sense and curiosity of his mate. Will...if we are reading him correctly...is not ready to extend that intimacy to others, but accepts it with Ironhide, which in turn, benefits all of us."

"How come it took so long for you to tell me?" Mikaela asked, feeling a bit hurt.

Bumblebee answered this time. "So much of what we express within the cohort happens on the level of bond and electromagnetic fields. We have made missteps, failed to understand what you comprehend consciously, and what only registers to you on an unconscious level."

"It doesn't help," Ratchet added, "that our bonding protocols are so ancient that the way we operate in the midst of a bond, once it is formed, is largely on the level of instinct. From our point of view, we were communicating the existence of the bond very clearly, and it was also very clear that Sam was rejecting the bond. It was even more clear that he did not understand or accept your feelings that were emerging as you embraced what he pushed away. To us, it feels like we hardly waited any time to tell you verbally. We were patient and waited until you were in a position that did not further harm your connection with Sam."

"Not all that patient," Mikaela said with a smirk, thinking of how immediately she had been pounced on after she and Sam had finally called it quits.

Ratchet actually chuckled. "The compulsion to complete the circuit, once bond protocols have been activated, is rather intense, and we knew you wanted to do more than just accept it. Your body very enthusiastically wished to complete it," he said, in no way apologetic.

 _"Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. Give it to me now, give it to me now. I wanna, li-li-li-lick you from yo' head to yo' toes"_ burst from Bumblebee's speakers in enthusiastic agreement as he bounced with the lyrics.

"Alright, Bee! Enough, I get it. You have me, okay? You never didn't," Mikaela batted at his audio sensor.

 _"Come one barbie, let's go party,"_

"Bumblebee, swear to God, if you ever play that song for me again I'll replace your coolant with Mountain Dew the next time I do a flush," Mikaela warned.

"And then I will reformat you into a zamboni and remove all of your transformation cogs for pushing her to it," Ratchet added

Completely unruffled by the threats, Bumblebee continued. _"I wanna drive the zamboni...let's give them somethin' to talk about...I need your love,_ The Gear Daddies, Bonnie Raitt, and The Righteous Brothers all informed them in turn.

"We...are going to need to work on your technique when it comes to getting a girl in the mood, Bee," Mikaela said with a laugh before turning her attention back to Ratchet. "I take it you don't mind me having some special time with Bee while one duty? Being that it's a medical emergency?" she asked, giving Ratchet a severe look that did not bode well for him if he refused.

"Do I have a choice?" He asked with mock severity, waving at them dismissively as he walked back toward the main part of Medbay to the sound of Bumblebee's speakers proclaiming, _"If I had my way I'd eat peaches every day,"_ followed by an electronic shriek and an evil laugh from Mikaela.

* * *

He onlined quickly, his rapid reboot code worming its way past the medical firewall to compress a process that normally could take several breems, or even a joor, depending on how deeply in stasis he was. It left some systems offline, but he could manage those later. A quick systems check showed him to be in better shape than he had in a long while. His logs showed that he had been in stasis in order to complete protoform healing of an amputation and for the reintegration of 38.573% of his memory core. _That much!? What the frag happened?_ He pulled up his last memory file. It was of doing a core backup on the Ark prior to disembarking with their team in order to rendezvous with Bumblebee on the third planet of the system where they were sure the AllSpark had ended its journey. His internal chronometer showed over three of that planet's orbital cycles had taken place since then. _Frag_.

He needed to know what was going on. He was repaired from whatever damage he had sustained, and the new welds across his abdominal plating had nearly absorbed into his exoskeleton. There were nearly-healed welds deep into his protoform. He scanned them and found every sign of good repair job. Not the 'Cons, then They would only have repaired him enough for interrogation, or wouldn't have bothered and would have simply attempted to rip information out of his processors while he was in stasis. Not that they would have gotten very far, he thought smugly. What good was being a saboteur if you didn't sabotage your own systems with viruses that were the stuff of nightmares?

A memory core restoration meant Ratchet had been involved. That was a good sign. But wherever he was located was loaded with alien materials, and his sensors were registering bio-energetic signatures all over the place, along with Cybertronian ones. The intel he had indicated that the primitive sentients had technology capable of doing them damage, and their staggering population meant that they could, just by numbers alone, overwhelm a small group of mechs and potentially take them prisoner. He was not going to take any chances. He needed to know the status of his cohort.

He slid off of the berth, muted his own signal, and slipped into the room's shadows, making quick work of cataloging everything in sensor range. He quickly called up schematics for no less than 483 separate explosives, energy discharge weapons, and booby traps he could construct with the supplies in the current room alone, and in less than a breem of silently collecting supplies, had constructed eight of them. He subspaced them, just to be on the safe side. A saboteur needed his tools.

His own weapons systems were offline, but he quickly routed his way around the block and reactivated them. The whole time he was doing this, the majority of his sensors were locked on a closed portal near his hiding spot. There was a Cybertronian and a bio-energetic signature on the other side. The Cybertronian signature, he knew well. But the sounds and energy fluctuations coming from his lieutenant were not clear. Could be torture. Could be one hell of an overload in progress. If he knew for sure it were the later, he would make a few toys to go with the explosives that now resided in his subspace. But he wasn't sure. Not completely, and he didn't take chances with is cohort.

The lock on the portal was easily dealt with, and he moved into the room as it shut with neither the organic nor Bumblebee any wiser, sliding again into the shadows.

He cycled his optics. Wow. Now wasn't that a pretty site to come online to?

Bumblebee was always a nice looking mech. But all spread out like that, his chestplates so wide open to reveal that gorgeous, wanton blue spark? Mmmm...lovely. The primitive was doing this to him? Oh yes it...she was! Her bipedal form was kneeling in his chest, her five-digit servos stroking his chamber as her body liquidly undulated in response to the feedback it was receiving. Strange, bizarre....beautiful! Was she her culture's version of a pleasure companion? She was skilled enough at what she was doing that she could be.

She might also be using those skills to interrogate the scout, though. Jazz had used pleasure as much as pain to get information he needed over the vorns. It wasn't an accident that so many in SpecOps were former companions.

She was not hooked into Bee's systems, though, and he doubted the incompatible biological processor he scanned on her would be able to do so remotely. Nor was she asking Bumblebee questions as she artfully brought him just to the cusp of discharge before settling him, only to caress him to the edge again. Primus! With some training she would be amazing, whether in SpecOps or as a companion. Her lack of an exoskeleton made him worry about her safety. Perhaps her species had other means of protection. Her bio-energy was certainly strong enough to power some form of energy discharge or shield.

He forced his attention away from his cohortmate's pleasure and focussed his sensors on her. Immediately he stifled a noise of surprise. There was a Cybertronian signature attached to her own bio-energetic one. Its message was undeniable. This primitive was part of his cohort, a fact which was confirmed a breem later as Bumblebee's spark chamber opened, and her body was suddenly glowing with the sparkenergy that was somehow merging with her own quantum particles.

It should not have been possible. She didn't have a spark. Yet tendrils of Bumblebee's blue corona wrapped around both her external and internal structures, before completely infusing them. It was as though her body itself was behaving as a spark. The sounds she made as she overloaded with Bumblebee were alien and so very organic, but that did nothing to take away from their beauty.

When both were offline, he settled himself next to them to guard. They were cohort, they were vulnerable in this state, and to stand watch over them was both pleasure and honor. Without a second thought, he activated the bonding protocols with his cohort's new sister, and then, with a small keen of relief, he gently mingled his own field with their own, and felt himself come home.

* * *

Lyrics: "Stand By Your Man" - Tammy Wynette, "We Are Family" - The Pointer Sisters, "The Shoop Shoop Song (It's In His Kiss)" - Aretha Franklin, "Great Balls of Fire" - Jerry Lee Lewis, "See Me, Hear Me" - The Who (from the Rock Opera Tommy), "Light My Fire" - The Doors, "I Can't Help Falling in Love With You" - Elvis Presley, "Sexual Healing" - Marvin Gaya, "What's Your Fantasy" - Ludicrous, "I Want to Drive a Zamboni" - The Gear Daddies, "Let's Give Them Something to Talk About" - Bonnie Raitt, "Unchained Melody" - The Righteous Brothers, "Peaches" - Presidents of the USA.

Soundclips from: The X-Men, Pulp Fiction


	5. Forces of Nature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikaela talks to Sam, and Optimus broods and ponders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References xeno intimacy (tactile, spark), language, talk of non-consensual cohort bonding (for all parties involves), threats of violence.
> 
>  _Thank you for your patience and the encouragement to continue. This is not abandoned, but I will admit other projects have held my interest and provided a forum in which to explore many of the themes I had hoped to explore in this story, namely Patronus, and its related stories (Patronus Outtakes, Debriefing, Love and Marriage, Fidelius). This one has been taking a darker spin in my head, and I've needed some time to work that out. Speaking of Patronus-verse, while many of the concepts in those stories are similar to Ozone, they are distinct story-verses. I'd describe Ozone and Patronus-verse as rubbing shoulders very closely in the multi-verse, but being distinct AUs that will sometimes briefly overlap (as they did in the story "Debriefing")._
> 
>  _I am gleefully changing some of the events of ROTF to suit my head canon, including Bumblebee's treatment of the Appliance Bots. I also refuse to acknowledge the Fallen and other original 13 having been on earth a mere 17,000 years ago BCE. Instead, I'm placing the arrival of the original Primes at around the same time the Homindae family emerged (great apes), and the AllSpark around the time of the emergence of homo sapiens as a species 500,000 years ago. Coincidence? Not likely. In general, movieverse timelines are far too short for me, and thus the only slightly exaggerated comment in this chapter about Ironhide and Ratchet going at it since before humans came down from the trees._

"Are you just going to look at your phone? Because I can do it for you from here. Just takes one little signal," Ratchet said from the other side of the Medical hanger.

"Shut it, Ratchet. This was my idea," Mikaela snapped, still looking at her phone. Why was this so hard? Just one little phone call. To her ex. Whose sexy Camaro she had known in the biblical sense of the word several times since they'd broken up.

"And it is a good one. If you don't talk to Sam, Jazz will, and Jazz is the head of Special Operations..."

"Jazz is too busy facing Optimus into the floor until he gets it through his thick helm that silver and sexy is alive and well."

"Jazz will make time if it means sorting things out for Bumblebee. The mech is frightening when he becomes protective."

"So you are saying I should go talk to Sam to keep him from getting hurt by Jazz? Is this some sort of twisted dysfunctional cohort thing?"

"I'm saying that you should talk to Sam because he is far more likely to understand things coming from one of his own species, and that Jazz will make sure he understands, but it might be far more unpleasant for the boy. Though better Jazz than Ironhide, I suppose."

Mikaela snorted. She could well imagine what that conversation would look like. It would most definitely involve spinning cannons. And cursing. Lots of cursing. "I actually think it would go best if Optimus spoke with him," Mikaela said thoughtfully. "They have a connection, no matter how much Sam explains it away. And Optimus was the one who created this bond with us in the first place, whether he had any choice in the matter, or not."

"Under normal circumstances, I would agree with you, Mikaela," Ratchet said, crossing the distance between them and settling his broad frame in a crouch by the berth that she was dangling her legs off of, his hand coming to cup her back in an affection that was deeper than the native irritability in his tone.

"Optimus and Sam have shared an experience that very few of us can even process and would be difficult for us even to believe if it weren't for the evidence right in front of us," he continued, and his tone had Mikaela bracing herself for more revelations that she was uncertain she was ready for. "But calm and reasoned as Prime may seem, his spark is deeply fractured from the destruction of the AllSpark and from the act of killing another Prime, not to mention the others he has offlined since arriving on Earth. He is also adjusting to the impact the Matrix is having upon his spark and coding, which is far more intense than the AllSpark's energies were for him. The instabilities we spoke of are highly volatile right now. Sam teeks strongly of the AllSpark, and I am concerned what would happen if those two energy sources were to meet, with Sam being volatile as well, and a bond which lacks completion that both energies likely want."

"What aren't you saying?" Mikaela asked, gazing up at the deep blue optics that were regarding her from Ratchet's ancient, craggy face. It was the face of a grumpy grandfather, if grandpa happened to be a sentient robot, and oh, she didn't want her thoughts going down that road considering just what being in his field did to her. If she ever said it aloud, he'd likely make some rude comment about the fact that he and Ironhide had been clanging bolts since before humans had come down from the trees, which made them seem like the perviest couple of cradle robbers in the history of the entire universe.

Which, as far as she knew, they probably were.

Ratchet cycled his optics at her, as if he could almost guess what she was thinking, then looked away, grimacing in what she knew was an adopted expression, but one which still communicated his reticence so clearly. After a moment, during which she suspected the medic had been conferring with someone from the cohort, likely Ironhide, he looked at her again.

"Megatron's rejection of their bond did great harm to Optimus. All of the other broken bonds between him and the sparks that were placed in his Prime Guardianship do great harm to him as well. With his instability, and the call of the AllSpark's power in Sam, I am afraid Optimus would lose control, and attempt to complete the bond regardless of Sam's rejection of it. The Matrix _wants_ that bond completed, and has been... pressuring Prime to do so."

"Optimus never would..."

"You are right. Optimus, when he is himself, would offline before he allowed himself take freedom from another being in that way. But he is not always himself. Jazz is doing the best he can to anchor him. And you are far more helpful to his spark than we ever could have predicted. But we are a long lived species, Mikaela. If it took a thousand years to get whatever is happening in him settled, it would be a short time for us. For now, we need to keep Sam as far away from Optimus as possible, unless and until Sam accepts the bond on his own. As painful as it is that Sam has distanced himself, it is for the best. If you can help settle things between Sam and Bumblebee, at least, that would go a long ways in smoothing these ragged energies out."

Mikaela crossed her arms and glared at the medic. "You guys don't ever make things simple, do you?"

Ratchet cupped his hand more closely around her back, his large, highly maneuverable thumb digit stroking her shoulder and down her arm. "I tell you the truth because you can handle it, Mikaela. You are part of our cohort. We've been keeping Prime centered and sane for over a million years, because he is the best and only hope we have of saving our species from itself, and other species from us."

Mikaela bit back her retort. Unable to even fathom the amount of time Ratchet implied, she instead focused on the affection and tender care she knew she was not just her imagination in the field that was making her tingle from head to toe. Deliberately leaning into the hand the was cupping her, she started to dial, and then stopped again.

"Am I safe with him?" she asked in a quiet voice.

"You are part of his cohort, Mikaela, with a bond that has been completed and is strengthening every time you share with him. You could not be safer. The ones who are at risk are those who would try to hurt you." His tone left that as a fact none of them wished to test.

* * *

When Bumblebee had dropped her off at the Witwicky's place outside Tranquility, she had shooed him away. She needed to be alone, and Bumblebee was far too anxious and eager, and could hear far too much.

"Hey," she said as Sam met her at the door.

"Hey," Sam said sullenly as he let her in without meeting her eyes. They silently walked to the kitchen, which had been rebuilt and greatly expanded since being destroyed, along with the rest of the house, by the appliance bots. Mikaela now knew they were safely hidden in growth tanks in Medical as their tiny sparks grew to a size to enable them to accept more complex frames and stable coding. Sam had never understood why Bumblebee had been so careful of them, shielding him and his parents, but never firing a shot at the little creatures. He just hadn't seemed to get that, as far as Bumblebee had been concerned, they were children needing coding, guidance, and protection. Which... was one more frustration Mikaela did not need to be thinking about. She needed to find all of the patience she'd long ago lost with Sam to get through this conversation.

"So, you want a coke or something?" Sam asked when she sat on a stool at the kitchen island.

"Um, yeah, sure," Mikaela said, noticing the dark circles under Sam's eyes, and generally how exhausted he looked. A memory flashed in her mind, of how he'd looked when he'd died in Egypt, trying to save Optimus. He'd been so brave, so resolute, and then had immediately gone back to being... the other Sam so soon after. It was almost like there were two of him.

He grabbed a coke out of the fridge, and then another one for himself. He didn't sit down, though. He started pacing.

"I don't know what you want to lecture me about, but if it's Bumblebee, I don't want to talk with him. He picked you. I get it. Shoulda known."

"Sam," she said quickly, cutting him off before he could really get started ranting. "There's stuff going on here that you don't understand."

"I understand what my car... my Guardian and best friend told me... it's so messed up I can't even think about it. How long did you wait? An hour? Which one was first? Or was it all of them at once?"

Mikaela felt her rage building, and bit her lip hard enough to draw blood to try keep herself for erupting at him the same way she had when they'd broken up.

"Sam," she said, trying to channel all of the patience she'd felt in Prime's spark when its energies had filled her. "This isn't about me. Or it is... but it's about you, too, and even Lennox and Epps. Something happened to us in Mission City, and I'm only beginning to understand it."

"Something more than the AllSpark fucking up my head?" Sam asked with a strangled sound. It was something he didn't like to talk about. Ever. "I never asked for any of this, Mikaela."

"You got into the car, Sam," she said in a tone that was like the living protoform underneath a mech's armor - soft, yet metal. "You made choices, and they were brave ones. Ones that... connected you with Optimus, Bumblebee, with all of them."

"And they thank me for it by fucking my ex as soon as we are through!" Sam exploded, slamming his coke on counter so hard that it fizzed and overflowed. "How could they? How could you! It's just so wrong... they're alien robots, Mikaela! You are just some sort of science experiment to them!"

"Sam!" Mikaela snapped, the side Wheelie liked to call her warrior goddess taking charge. She crossed to where he was standing and got right in his face. "You are going to fucking listen to me if I have duct tape your mouth and tie you to a chair to make it happen, do you understand. Don't think I won't."

* * *

When all was said, and Sam finally heard it, Mikaela was certain of two things. The first was that Sam truly did not wish to do anything that would hurt Bumblebee, even though he blindly did so on a regularly basis. The second was that it would take some time before he could forgive Optimus for doing yet one more thing to him that denied him the chance to have a preciously normal life.

It was hard for her to fathom that something she wanted so much, something that thrilled her to her core, was something that could be so horrifying to a person she thought she knew. Sam had died for Optimus, yet being bonded to Prime's cohort terrified and repulsed him.

Then again, she had not been the person who had knowledge from the AllSpark written on parts of her brain, and had never been violated by a pretender or a creepy little medic trying to access that knowledge. Messed up things happened to Sam, every time he got involved. Perhaps he couldn't be blamed for wanting to push it all away.

In the end, he seemed to understand the need to connect differently with his Guardian. Assuring him that it did not have to be sexual had gone a long way, though Mikaela secretly wondered if Sam's horror was the result of being horrified by his own attractions, rather than true repulsion. She wondered what would change for him if and when he finally touched his Guardian's spark, felt to his core the way she had the overwhelming kindness, loyalty, and love Bumblebee had for his cohort, including its human members, and especially for the person he had the Guardian bond with.

Bumblebee had given her a ride back to base, giving Sam a chance to think things over before he had to face his Guardian. There was one agreement she had made with Sam that she had to broach with the scout, and she wasn't looking forward to it.

"He wants to talk with you about it, but under one condition," she said, carefully avoiding running her hands comfortingly over his dashboard.

" _... to see what condition my condition is in,_ "

"If he is touching your spark, if he completes the bond, it will... your spark will be better, right? You said it was enough for the cohort that Lennox was touching Ironhide. If Sam accepts things with you... will you be okay without me touching you, too? For now?"

A static hiss came from the radio, then the sound of a record scratching.

"I don't like it either, Bumblebee. But you have to look at this from his perspective, too. It's just too much for him, too strange right now with everything else that has happened, to accept the idea that I'm being intimate with you at the same time he is. When he understands more... as the bond grows, I think it might change for him. I'm not asking you to choose. Just... if you really want to close this circuit with Sam, you're going to need to let him change and come to terms with it slowly."

"You are asking me to be exclusive with him. To no longer share with the rest of my cohort," Bumblebee answered in his own voice, sounding horrified.

"No... I really don't think the rest of the cohort is an issue. Just me. Just... it just may take him some time. If you can complete your bond with him, it will be worth it, right?"

Bumblebee was silent for a long time, then revved his engine hard in frustration.

" _And I..........will always love youuuuuuuuuuuuu_ " Whitney Houston finally sang.

Mikaela blinked back her tears, just hoping she was making the right call.

* * *

Optimus watched the sleeping human, curled up on a thick pile of blankets on his anchor's silver chest, transformed smooth for her comfort. His olfactory sensors could still sense the evidence of her earlier arousal and climax, just as he could still sense the aftermath of his spark's hard overload, along with that of the mech who was recharging next to him. That his spark could feel this refreshed, this peaceful after immersing Mikaela in his and Jazz's merge was a source of awe for him, though the Matrix did not seem surprised at all, and instead was urging him to interface as often and in as many ways with the human member of his cohort as possible.

The Matrix, he was sure, tapped into the same energies, dimensions, and semi-sentient wisdom that AllSpark had. Like the AllSpark, it was volatile, even dangerous, truly what some might call a force of nature, but when he could bring himself deep enough into communion with it, he found that the creative clarity that came from it was very much akin to what he had once found meditating in the temple at Simfur or even when the Autobots had the Cube on the run.

Prior to receiving the Matrix from Samuel, Optimus had been unsure how he had emerged from the battle in Mission city cohort-bonded with members of an ephemeral species whose lives burned so bright and quick, much less how his Prime bond, as Guardian of his species, had inexplicably extended to the human species as well. He had suspected the Cube's involvement, just as the powerful relic had been involved in the decisions leading both to its launch and destruction.

His meditations communing with the Matrix had confirmed his suspicions to be true.

The Matrix, of course, had been on Earth far longer than the AllSpark had. He was certain now that neither relic had been idle during their time on planet. The first had arrived, not coincidentally, at about the time the great apes had emerged on Earth. The latter had arrived just as humanity itself was emerging as a species, 500,000 years ago. It was disconcerting to know that his decision to launch the Cube had directly impacted the evolution of a species so different, yet strangely similar to his own.

He could not believe it was an accident. The AllSpark had been drawn to the Matrix, and both had shaped the energies of the dominant species on this world. It was entirely likely that each artifact had not only slipped the constraints of the chronal dimension, but actively conspired to bring about the usefulness of that dominant species in doing so.

While Prime had led the Autobots to protect other organic species who had been threatened by the Decepticons, he had never formed a bond with them. He had simply done so because, by his own ethical coding, it had been the right thing to do. Freedom was the right of all sentient beings. Looking at Mikaela now, whose bond with him was such a complicated mix of both choice and powers at work beyond themselves, he wondered if the Matrix and AllSpark's energies shared those same ethical values? Certainly humanity had not been given a choice regarding the manipulation of their own evolution.

Yet all living beings were affected by energies beyond their ability to control.

It certainly would have been better for this world had his kind never had contact with it. But if they had not, this powerful, ephemeral being, who allowed herself to be repeatedly subsumed by his spark, might have never existed, because humanity itself might never have come into being.

It was a staggering realization.

They were kindred, in metal and flesh, as impossible as it might seem. And now he had a little sister in his cohort, and both his spark and the Matrix were certain that this bond was one of the most important things to have taken place in vorns. The priests in Simfur, even his own mentor and teacher, Sentinel, would find it ludicrous, even blasphemous and repulsive. It was one thing for them to respect the rights of other species, but to bond and interface with them?

And now his spark had taken the responsibility of being Prime for a species who would never regard him as such, yet he had the same duty to protect and preserve them as he had his own.

He reached out, cupping the deeply sleeping human with his hand protectively. He had failed in that duty with his own kind. Would he fail with this new species placed in his care? Perhaps his cohort bond with Mikaela would teach him how not to do so. Many of his own deepest failures, such as the decision not to intervene in Tarn's attack upon Vos, had taken place prior to bonding with his present cohort, in the aftermath of the agony of Megatron breaking their own bond and the numerous, senseless acts of destruction that had followed. By the time he had regained his center, the war had exploded beyond any mech's ability to end.

::Don't tell me Ah'm gonna have ta overload ya again ta get ya into recharge,:: Jazz commed him, remaining silent for the sleeping human on his chest.

::Forgive me, Jazz,:: Optimus transmitted, his hand stroking the smaller mech's helm in deep affection. ::I was not aware that my musings were disturbing your own rest.::

::Ah set my recharge on a timer ta make sure ya weren't broodin'. Good thing Ah did,:: Jazz responded. ::Why don't ya plug in an show me what you’re thinkin' of...::

Both mechs suddenly froze as horror and distress filtered across the cohort bond, Mikaela waking instantly at the sudden fluctuation in their own fields. Even as both reached out to Bumblebee to try to ascertain the source of his distress, their comms became active.

::Ratchet!:: Bumblebee yelled onto their cohort frequency. ::Sam has collapsed! He... oh by the AllSpark, touching my spark did something to him!::


	6. Forces of Creation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet makes a staggering discovery about human nature

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Content Notification:** Noncon creation of spark by means of AllSpark energies not contained by the Cube (as in, involving Sam), xenophilia (tactile spark contact), made up science WTFery
> 
> A rather short update, but I hope the wallop it packs makes up for that. I had a shower-revelation about why Sam went from being an adorkable geek to a prick, and am anxious to know what you think of it. Reviews and feedback are like high grade for muses, without any hangover. Thank you so much to all who take the time to leave feedback and share their ideas and questions.

Bumblebee seethed outside Medical, his weapons systems repeatedly onlining with the need to protect his human charge, only to offline again at the repeated, oppressive realization that he was the cause of Sam's malfunction. After the second cycle of that behavior, Ratchet had kicked him out, but it did not stop the processor loop from playing the memory and starting the cycle again. 

A field brushed against his own, and his defensive systems had him whirling to aim his pulse cannon, only to disengage with a strangled static keen.

"Easy, little buzzer," Jazz said, his hands held up in the human gesture indicating no harm was intended. Bumblebee warbled miserably as the recently repaired mech made his way carefully into the fields pulsing with shame, distress, and an all too real need for violence. Jazz's own field echoed the gentle concern and soothing impulses Bumblebee could feel through their cohort bond. The scout reflexively pulled his fields tighter, but then forced himself to relax into the embrace of Jazz's own. The saboteur always knew the right approach to take with the darker, more anxiety-laden parts of Bumblebee's own nature. Skills Jazz used to infiltrate or interrogate were often put to use for the health of his cohort.

Bumblebee found himself wrapped in arms, slightly smaller than his own, which had long represented the security of a being to whom he could reveal himself fully. Jazz was deadly and dangerous, perhaps more so than any other Autobot aside from Optimus himself when the right mood struck, yet to Bumblebee, the silver mech was a safe harbor who kept him balanced. He rested his helm against Jazz's own, allowing the comfort of this vital part of their cohort's web to envelope and soothe his distress, just as cohort was meant to.

::Sam's okay,:: Jazz assured him on their private channel, all trace of his adopted accent now replaced with the unique elegance and artistry the saboteur had when it came to the auditory and visual glyphs of their native manner of communication. ::Ratchet has him in the human version of stasis, running some deeper scans. The burns are healing beautifully, without any treatment, thanks to his own energies.::

Bumblebee's field flared again with distress at what had caused those burns.

::Show me, buzzer. Ratchet will need the file, and you need to share this with one of us before your systems fry and you shoot that pretty cannon.::

Bumblebee lowered himself to the ground, leaning against the outside wall of the medical bay, and put his helm in his servos, warbling again as he extended his data cable to the slightly smaller mech who settled next to him, the embrace of his fields still tight and assuring.

* * *

_Bumblebee's spark was spinning fast, both in anticipation and pleasure at the clear signs in Samuel's biofield that he was understanding and accepting the connection they shared. He could see it, too in Sam's expressive face, full of wonder as the human saw for himself the whirling and spinning of Bumblebee's energies, now revealed within his open chest. Tendrils were physically reaching out to complete the connection. There was nervousness in Sam's field, but not fear. Only awe and growing excitement, so easily read. And with the bond complete, Bumblebee would understand so much more of the multitude of complex energies that surrounded his charge, his friend._

_"Just like that?" Sam asked, his typical clipped, nervous tone replaced with something slower, and more authentic to the actual state of his own energies._

_"As simple as a touch, Sam," Bumblebee replied, holding himself steady and still to avoid anything that might cause Sam to fear and back away. "If it feels like I am going to overload, I'll warn you, so we can stop if you wish."_

_"But that won't... it won't electrocute me or anything?" Sam asked, his hand moving forward, almost touching the farthest-reaching tendril and then pulling back._

_"No Sam. Spark overloads are a completely different sort of energy. Not electricity." Bumblebee knew he did not need to mention that Mikaela, Will and Sarah had engaged in spark contact without any ill effects._

_"And an overload is like an orgasm, but without the mess," Sam assured himself, swallowing and beginning to reach out his hand again._

_"It is not necessary that I overload, Sam," Bumblebee assured him, his vocal processor filling with static at the surges of a need so different than what Sam would be inclined to compare it to. His protoform trembled, liquid, living metal flexing and flowing in anticipation._

_"I don't think I mind," Sam whispered, his fingers making contact with the tendril. It flashed blue at the contact, twining around and creating thousands, then billions of connections with the particles whose signatures were uniquely Sam. Bumblebee's spark erupted in joy at the connection and completion that came with being welcomed by those particles, now vibrating in resonance with its own._

_Sam moaned._

_"Oh Jesus, that's amazing," Sam gasped as another, then another tendril reached out. His other hand completed the distance, reaching more deeply within Bumblebee's flaring corona, moaning and crying out as he came into contact with the energies of the core itself. Bumblebee immediately felt his spark energy surge into Sam, forging the connection on levels even Cybertronian scientists did not fully understand._

_He could feel what Sam felt, the overwhelming tingles of something that was both physical pleasure and emotional love-wholeness-peace-completion flowing through his organic body in a manner that felt far more right than Bumblebee could ever have anticipated, even having done the same with Mikaela._

_The AllSpark energies that were part of Sam began pulsating, flaring, pulling Bee's spark energies in further to swirl and knit and mend until both human and mech had completely lost themselves in a process larger than either one._

_Bumblebee suddenly began to fear._

_This was different. Nothing like what he had experience with Mikaela or in the files the other members of his cohort had shared. Sam felt that fear, and he too, attempted to back away, but neither could as the energies from Sam began registering in the optical range as a bright, white orb, pulling into it spark energy from Bumblebee and Sam's spark-like bioenergies._

_Sam screamed._

_Bumblebee's own spark was beginning to ache, burn, and then writhe with stabbing pains as their energies flared again in a tidal rush that was far more powerful than overload. Unable to stop his own pain from rushing through the connection, it joined with Sam's in response to the swirling vortex of something new that neither had desired to create, but the AllSpark energies had demanded. It felt as though it was taking both of them apart at the energetic level._

_With a final flash, Sam's very body glowing with some form of charge that filled the air with molecules of burnt flesh, a new life came into existence._

_"Sam!" Bumblebee screamed both aloud and through his cohort bonds, reaching out to those he trusted the most as Sam collapsed into his open chest, unconscious. The soft arms and hands were a mass of red and black burns, and a bright orb of spark energy was floating just above Sam's prone form. Floating, and dissipating quickly, Bumblebee realized as portions of his coding from his vorns as a temple guard activated and demanded he pull the spark within his own containment chamber for protection. But Bumblebee's Guardian protocols were prioritized and he frantically turned his attention to scanning Sam and calling for Ratchet even as the new spark flared and guttered. Without the containment of a spark casing, it swiftly was reabsorbed, though not by Bumblebee, but by Sam, who convulsed and cried out again._

* * *

"Ratchet, if what you say is the case, then this could..." Optimus' voice trailed off, his spark flaring reflexively in a protective impulse to connect with the human members of his cohort and sense their well-being. He set down his cube, suddenly having no desire to fuel.

"Yes, because of Sam's exposure to the AllSpark energies as its dimensional shell disintegrated, the process is simply more advanced in him. But I've run the simulations multiple times, comparing their current scans with the baseline ones I did when we first encountered them and after we became aware of the bonds. My prediction is that every human being is capable of these changes if exposed to the energies of sparks bonded with them, and perhaps even without the bonds, though that would be exceedingly dangerous."

"Primus," Optimus murmured, his processors making the connections between what Jazz had suspected and the far more sinister, yet paradoxically hopeful reality Ratchet had extrapolated. "And you believe this was intentionally done?"

"Intentional or not, the AllSpark and the Matrix have been changing this planet since their arrival, and are undoubtedly responsible for the evolution of a sentient organic species whose bioenergies contain traces of spark energy. We could all sense it, but did not know where to look to find it. Thanks to Bumblebee's sensor log, now I do. The AllSpark creates life, Optimus. Called by the Matrix, it found itself on a world where organic life already existed, and its energies, perhaps under the guidance of the Matrix, created from that life a species that is capable of doing what our sparks, on their own, cannot." Ratchet's tone was flat, not revealing his own feelings on the matter.

"The AllSpark's energies exist beyond time," Optimus said gravely. "It knew its dimensional shell would be destroyed, so it created a means by which sparks could continue to come into this dimension. Without ever intending to, we have robbed this species of what it might have become, stolen its self determination, yet have possibly ensured the future of our own."

Ratchet's vocalizer gave a static hiss, dismissing that particular concern. "The more I examine the natural record of this planet, the more I am certain that sentience would not have developed here without that spark energy. They would have no self-determination without it. How many other truly organic worlds have we found sentience on? And the vast majority of those were the result of outside intervention and engineering, Quintesson or otherwise, rather than an evolutionary process that does not favor the development of sentience. There are sound reasons our scientists doubted the possibility of organic sentience for so long. But now, we are irrevocably bonded with a species that is organic, sentient, and has spark energy existing within its own bioenergies on a subatomic level. It is a species that, like our own, is a creation of the AllSpark. Organic life must replicate itself, and has changed the spark energy to be able to do the same, both in its new, organic form, and, possibly, as sparks that function in Cybertronian shells."

"But the damage to Sam--"

"--is not the result of that process, I believe, though this needs further investigation. There was a completely different factor at work. One which we should have guessed long ago, Optimus. Think of the other energies Sam was exposed to while the Cube was disintegrating."

Had Optimus not already been sitting, he would have done so at the shock that raced through his systems. "Megatron," he said darkly. 

"The reason Sam has been so resistant to the bonds, yes. An echo, if you will, of Megatron's spark clung to Sam's bioenergies, and has been affecting his thought process. Sam, of course, did not reject the bonds violently as Megatron did, but was repulsed by the them nonetheless. Without those energies affecting him, I would guess Sam would be every bit as open to these bonds as the other human members of our cohort, though, like any sentient being, I'm sure he would have preferred to have had choice in the matter."

"We all would have preferred a choice," Optimus said, his tone heavy with regret. "The AllSpark is not an entity that necessarily takes those wishes into account when it comes to the impulse to create and continue life. That is why it must have a Prime, strengthened by the Matrix, to guide it."

"Which for far too long, it lacked. And don't you dare fault yourself, Optimus. It's not your fault that the Matrix awaited you on this world rather than coming to you on our own, or that the AllSpark functioned on this planet with the Matrix not wielded by a Prime."

"I ordered the launch," Optimus reminded Ratchet. 

"You did what had to be done. It would not allow itself be used the way it had been by Megatron again, and we were losing. If I recall, the AllSpark itself insisted on the launch," Ratchet reminded his Prime, standing and walking behind him to place his own finely articulated servos on Prime's shoulders as though to ease part of the burden that was upon them.

"What of Samuel, Ratchet?" Optimus asked as he regained his equilibrium in the steadiness of the medic's fields.

"My recommendation is that we fully inform him of what took place and what has been affecting him. It is very possible that his own bioenergies can reject the resonance print Megatron left behind, or even change it, and he will become amenable to attempting to create a spark again."

"We must put no pressure on Sam, or any of the humans, to pursue creation in this manner, Ratchet," Optimus cautioned, his tone near to a growl.

"Even if it means our survival as a species?" Ratchet asked tersely.

"They will feel pressure enough simply knowing the truth," Optimus snapped. "I will not add to that. Any investigation of it, any attempts, will take their safety into first consideration, and will be at their initiative," he explained more carefully. "And we must take immediate steps to prevent Megatron from finding out what humans are capable of. I can only imagine the horrors that would result."

"Optimus, one thing you must keep in mind. The energies that Megatron has imprinted upon Sam? It is possible it functions like a bond, far more developed than what he shares with any of us thus far. Depending on how much energy he still puts into suppressing and rejecting his own bonds, Megatron may already know."


	7. Gender Relations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The revelations about the AllSpark's activities on Earth cause Mikaela to ask difficult questions about choice and consent, while her temporary protector raises another set of questions regarding perceived gender.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dubcon references, references non-explicit xeno intimacy (tactile, spark), references xeno spark creation methods and canonical hatchlings, unnamed humans in Decepticon captivity, unsavory scientific experimentation, cussing.

Mikaela desperately needed to be alone, or at least away from five particular mechs. Whatever was happening to her particles or waves or whatever the fuck was her "unique, trans-dimensional spark-like bioenergetic pattern", it was making it hard to think. Hard to want to do anything other than physically crawl into the chest of one of her cohort mates and let that glorious star envelop her inside and out, to lose herself in it and find that release that she craved more than food or water. 

Optimus had put a moratorium on any further direct spark contact between mechs and humans until the effects could be further evaluated. Mikaela's body-soul-energies-whatever had reacted to this with all the grace of a toddler being denied a second bite of ice cream after having had her very first. Oh, she understood the decision, and seeing Sam connected with truly terrifying-looking alien machinery in Medical, still unconscious with pale new skin growing on his arms, she was in complete agreement. Her brain was terrified by what had happened to her ex and in shock at the implications of what Jazz had explained to her. Her soul, because really, that was the simplest thing to call this energy she was suddenly so very aware of, was pissed as hell at being denied. She suddenly had an inkling of what Bumblebee had been going through with a bond that was both incomplete and being rejected.

She felt like she was being taken apart from the inside out by an electric-charged buzzing shiver running through her body from head to toe, making her ears ring. Only the merge of body and spark would put her back together. It was just too much to be around her cohort, feeling their sparks pulling her like some magnetic wave that made far more than just her body throb and ache with need. When she was in close proximity to any of them, she could feel their possessiveness, their desire for her. What was not culturally acceptable to them on an individual level was completely different when it came to cohort. She was theirs. They were hers. It was a new bond, and according to their coding and sparks (and her body and soul), they should be doing very little other than merging repeatedly until it settled. 

Apparently, the compulsion was far stronger when it came to the bonds with the humans. The urge to reproduce had never been part of their cohort coding before, but her organic nature was changing them as much as they were changing her. She, however, didn't have the benefit of the inhibitor code Ratchet could inject the others with, to give them temporary relief and the ability to overcome the compulsions. Not that the Matrix allowed such a stopgap to work on Optimus, and she knew the strength of his compulsion to 'complete the circuit' with her again was disturbing him deeply now that he understood its purpose.

Physical release did little to help. Jazz had been thorough and amazing, and had taught her things about her own body she had never known, not to mention the aspects of Cybertronian systems that Ratchet had omitted, as detailed as he was. But it hadn't been what either of them really needed, and had left both even more worked up than before. Being physically with them was torture, so she'd insisted on getting away, or at least as away as was possible under the circumstances. 

There was no way Optimus was allowing her or any of the bonded humans off base or to be without protection even within the well-protected perimeter. He feared Megatron knew, and that her bond with Prime's cohort made her too compelling a target. The raw fear she had sensed in every member of her cohort told her enough about what she would face should that happen, and her own encounters with the warlord filled in the gaps (Sam pinned to a table by huge clawed hands, the horror of a medical probe drone slithering up his nasal passage to his brain haunted her still). She grudgingly accepted the offered solution. A relatively new mech, part of a different cohort, had been assigned as her protector, and they had been sent to a bunker deep underground on a different part of the base. It was far enough away that she could not "feel" the cohort the way she could in the same room. It took a bit of the edge off, but not much. Enough that she could think a bit more clearly.

The blue and white mech had not yet picked an English designation, and spoke only Cybertronian to the others even when humans were present. Under normal circumstances, she might have been insulted by the attitude. She could have sworn she felt the seats cringing underneath her when she got in for the drive to the other side of base. It was so different from the noticeable ways her cohort did just the opposite. However, with the near-painful static shivers that kept racing through her, the mech's cool aloofness and silence were a relief. According to Jazz, she could not have been in safer hands. The mech had been an acolyte to the Prime before the war and was fiercely loyal. 

The mech was sitting about a hundred yards from her, brushing dust off with a polishing cloth using quick, yet graceful motions. She had to admit that the frame was probably the most attractive of any of the Autobots, at least by her standards. The graceful, almost Egyptian looking helm was beautiful, and there was something about the mech's armor and color patterns that suggested refined elegance. If her attractions had been physical, she should have had the same burn that she had long felt for her cohort. But Ironhide and Ratchet, with all their bulk, dents, craggy expressions, and sometimes-horrible manners were far more attractive to her. It made her realize just how much the bonds had affected her even prior to knowing they existed. 

Sideswipe was a good example of this. She found him hilarious, considered him a friend, and thought he had a beautiful frame. She'd enjoyed his company as much as any member of her cohort, but had no attraction to him the way she did to Prime and the others. She had never questioned it before, but now realized it was because she was not bonded with him on an energetic level. This new mech held no attraction to her, no matter how physically stunning, and it wasn't simply a function of personality. The blue and white mech wasn't cohort.

She didn't know what to make of it. She had not chosen these bonds, but they felt like an integral part of her. Who she had become since getting into that Camaro suddenly felt as much a function of energies working in ways she couldn't comprehend as it did her own choices. Optimus, of course, would wisely say that the two could not be separated. She had chosen to accept the bonds. But had she? Had she really made any choices at all, or had the choice been made for her when the AllSpark and Matrix had begun manipulating the energies of humanity's ancestors? 

And did it even matter? 

She knew she wouldn't choose any differently if she'd been given a choice, not with how right and perfect and whole it felt to touch those sparks and complete those bonds. But could she have chosen differently? Was she capable of not wanting this? Or had her primeval ancestors been shaped so that she would do exactly as she had done.

Should she feel used?

Had her entire species been created just because the AllSpark knew that its form in this universe would be destroyed? Was her species nothing but spark incubators, evolved to take the place of the cube? She had viscerally rejected the idea of her body's purpose being an incubator of babies. Her parents had fucked up enough, and she had no desire to fuck up another generation. It had been one of her and Sam's more vicious arguments that had not involved the Autobots. After Egypt he had broached the topic of marriage, and had found out that she had no intention of being a mom.

Yet, she couldn't bring herself to be horrified at the idea of creating a spark from energies the cube had caused her species to evolve with. She loved her cohort, and could not bear the idea of them being the last of their kind, even if they would outlast her by eons. But that wasn't what made her feel so accepting of the idea. She was suspicious that she did not have a choice about feeling just fine about producing new sparks. It was deeper than a biological imperative, which she could and did reject. It was a soul imperative. 

Had her very soul been simply created as a tool?

She shivered as another wave of buzzing static raced through her, setting her teeth on edge. Her guardian suddenly stood, and was walking over with near silent steps, something that should not have been possible for a large metal being like himself. The mech sat about ten feet from her and looked at her with intensity that made her feel like she was being dissected. 

"What?" she finally asked defensively.. 

"You need to distract yourself from the bond coding," the mech finally said in a tone that sounded far more alien to her ears than the others. There was no hint of gender in the tone or recognizable accent or dialect, and it made her realize just how deliberately those had been chosen by the earlier arrivals. Was "he" even a he? All of that was arbitrary, she understood from Ratchet's lessons. They had no genders or many depending on how one looked at it. Ratchet had explained that frame class, city of origin, function and status all affected what pronouns were used in Cybertronian, and that prior to the war they had at least 38 distinct pronouns rather than the paltry 'he', 'she' and 'it' of English. 

"How do you propose I do that?" Mikaela said, her tone grating to her own ears. 

"Any way you please. You have excess charge. I have no intention of helping you to cope with that. Overloading to release it will help for a time, but not for long if your bond code functions anything like ours does. Conversation about a neutral topic is sometimes a better distraction."

She could get no read on the mech's body language to tell if the disdain she thought she heard truly was that.

"What do you want to talk about?"

"What I wish to talk about would not be neutral," the mech countered in the androgynous tone that her brain simultaneously demanded and refused to assign a gender.

"Okay, I've got one. How do I refer to you? I don't need the lecture on 38 genders and all that. I get it. But I don't want to think of you as an it and I'm stuck with my lousy and limited language."

The mech regarded her quietly for a moment, focusing and refocusing on her in a way that made her feel distinctly uncomfortable. "It matters little to me, personally," the mech replied. " _He_ appears to be the default for most who arrived previously. _She_ has many problematic connotations attached to it in your species. Arcee never chose. NEST apparently chose for her because of her size and vocal resonance patterns. Does it matter to you which I choose?"

It was Mikaela's turn to consider the words and focus in on the strange elegance of the mech's form. "I care that most of you are defaulting to 'he'. It pisses me off. And it really pisses me off that some of the NEST teams automatically assume Arcee is a weaker warrior."

"There are many Autobots and Decepticons who would not wish to face Arcee in hand to hand," the mech said, and this time Mikaela had no doubt about the tone and respect it conveyed. "Why does it concern you that most of us have used the gender pronoun that some consider the default in your language? It is not as though we can use the plural for the singular in ordinary conversation."

"It matters to me because of history, and because using 'she' as default still seems strange or wrong to most people's ears, and because of those 'problematic connotations' you talked about. You are just reinforcing everything that is wrong with our culture by your choices."

The mech made a buzzing sound that Mikaela thought she recognized as annoyance. "For much of your species’ history, at least in the majority of cultures, females were the property of males, or were not considered persons under the law. Considering that our status as 'machines' on your planet likewise places us in role in which some would assume us to be property, choosing a male pronoun seems to be in our own self-interest, though I doubt it will make much difference. Your military has weapons that are capable of doing us great damage. While we may seem a threat to you, in truth, you are a far greater threat to us, and if word gets out regarding how the artifacts of our species interfered in your evolution, regardless of the advantages you were granted as a result, your kind are just as likely to exterminate us."

"Pronouns won't make much a difference if that's the case," Mikaela said bitterly, "though it could make a huge difference to some little girl if some big, burly Autobot who saved her town from the Decepticons was a _she_. But whatever. No one bothered to ask me. Well, Prime did, but only after he and most of the others were firmly established as male by NEST and the government." Mikaela let silence settle again. 

"I'm not sure there is a 'your kind' and 'my kind'," she suddenly blurted out.

"Say more," the mech responded in a tone she could not interpret.

"The AllSpark created my species. It created your species. Turns out my species may be able to give life to a new generation of your species, save you from extinction. Maybe we are, like, two branches of the same species. Maybe we are a 'we', not an us and them'"

The mech's armor flicked in a wave-like pattern, like a shiver. "I find that idea distasteful. You are an inferior species, short lived, weak, organic, slaves to your biochemistry." 

"And?" Mikaela challenged, unwilling to take the bait if that was indeed what was being given.

"It appears you may be correct. I am repulsed by the idea of forming bonds with organic life forms, and even more so by being beholden to your kind for survival and the continuation of our species. But I cannot argue with the facts. It does not mean that I have to like them, and I do believe it is more likely that your species will destroy ours than ensure our survival. I will have little choice, however. My cohort-mates, when they arrive, will not share my distaste, and will wish to bond with some of your kind if it is permitted. One, in particular, will find the idea fascinating and highly erotic. This will impact my own attitudes and responses. I am never at my best when I am isolated from my cohort." The mech shivered again, but then moved so the elegant helm was closer to her. "Do you find me offensive?"

Mikaela shrugged. "I find you honest. Do others feel like you do?"

"Very few are aware of all of the facts yet. They understand Prime has formed a bond with your species, and has brought you and others into his cohort. Some are puzzled, even troubled or repulsed, but trust and respect Prime too much to say so. Many believe the move was political, to have human assistance to ensure our continued welcome here. When they learn the remainder of the facts, they will be in no place to question the will of the AllSpark, the Matrix, and the Prime. Given what I understand, once the bonds form, it feels completely natural. Our bond coding would not permit otherwise. For some, it is desirable even prior. Blaster's cohort had plans to court the two signals analysts they have been working with, and that is without being aware of the purpose of these connections. It is pure curiosity and attraction on their part. Wheeljack's cohort is fully aware, and is fascinated from a scientific perspective. All of us wish to see our species survive, Mikaela Banes."

Mikaela nodded, finding herself liking this mech more than she ought to, considering the clear attitudes toward her species. The honesty and alienness were fascinating. The fact that her mind refused to assign a gender added to that fascination.

"How do you feel about these bonds?" the mech suddenly asked her, "about what the AllSpark did here."

"Still trying to figure that out, but, I wouldn't give up my cohort for anything. It's... it's like nothing I ever could have imagined. But I'm scared. I don't know what this is doing to me. Ratchet was sure it was all benign or beneficial, but now he isn't sure how much of that is fact and how much of that is the changes in his own coding demanding that they continue to merge with me regardless."

"If it is not harmful to you, will you help our species survive?" the mech asked.

Mikaela unconsciously rubbed her abdomen. She shrugged. "Like I said. Not us and them. We. Yes, I want to. I never wanted to be a mom. This is... different. I want to for the same reason I want to learn how to do repairs from Ratchet."

The mech gave her a puzzled look. "Why would you wish to ignore your biological imperatives? I thought that was why humans were always mating in the first place."

"Because I'm more than my womb and my biological imperatives, and because there's enough babies born on this world who aren't wanted. Believe me, I'm not mother material."

"But being the source of a spark is different for you?" the mech asked, leaning in close enough for her to clearly feel the field brush against her and make her hair stand on end, and to be reminded again that this mech was not cohort. The field felt, not uncomfortable, but distinctly different from those that called to her. 

"Yeah. It is. Don't ask me to explain why, because I can't. It just is."

The answer left her feeling uncomfortable and confused.

The mech leaned back again and was quiet. After a few minutes he...she...it? spoke. "Mirage is what you may call me, Mikaela. And if you must use a pronoun, I think I will go with she. It pleases you, and you are consort to the Prime. As appalling as my coding finds that idea, I will adjust, just like I did with all the other unsuitable mechs he chose. The issue is my coding, not them, or you."

"Um, thank you?" Mikaela responded, not quite sure what to say, but feeling as though despite all qualifiers, she had just been paid an enormous compliment. "Consort?"

"The best translation available for the members of the Prime's cohort. It is a position of incredible power and prestige, or it was, and still is to many of us."

"Oh. So, what other memos have I missed? Wait, on second thought, tell me more about Cybertron, about Optimus, before the war. Jazz said you were close to him."

Mirage visibly seemed to preen at the question, and she actually gave the barest hint of a smile. "Of course, Mikaela. If that is what you wish."

* * *

It was a large windowless warehouse, like many others in the industrial slum of a nondescript gray city in the former Communist Block. If the vehicles that entered and exited on a regular basis were of a rather odd variety, no one noticed, or assumed it to be controlled by the mafia and deliberately averted their eyes. The police and other officials were always paid their proper bribes on time, and no one ever checked on the activities within. 

On one particularly frigid autumn day that promised an even more frigid winter to come, a rust-covered armored fuel tanker rolled in, properly unnoticed. Once inside, the truck exploded outward with a cacophony of moving parts in a sequence that was less than smooth. 

Lacking proper energon and without the energies the Fallen had provided, Megatron's self repair was under-performing in a rather spectacular manner. It did not matter. What was taking place within the warehouse would, in due time, place this resource-rich world under his control. 

"Shockwave, report," he demanded. Soon, the cycloptic mech emerged from between two rows of subjects who were thoroughly cabled into the equipment that maintained and monitored them as well as stimulating their spark-like energies to produce spark shards.

"My Lord Megatron," Shockwave replied with a deferential nod. "I have successfully incubated a new brood. The sparks are larger and more stable than those that were incubating on the Nemesis. With the energon donations and the refinement techniques I have developed for the Earth-based fuels, I predict that the hatchlings will be strong enough for full sized frames within two vorns."

"Two vorns is too long," Megatron growled. "What of your attempts to produce energon from the AllSpark conduits?" The Cube had been source not only of sparks, but energon itself, after all.

"Thus far, the subjects have disintegrated before even a drop was extracted, my Lord. Their organic frames are unsuitable conduits for that form of the cube's energies."

"They are pathetic and weak," Megatron agreed in a measured, calm tone, "but we would not have been provided this means of creating a new army had there been no way to provide them the proper energon. You are missing some vital aspect of this research Shockwave. There must be a means of separating their energies from their insect bodies, or a way to shield their flesh from the energon's effects."

"I will need more subjects, my Lord," Shockwave replied.

"Soundwave will obtain an additional hundred for you through his contacts. Any more than that will trigger Prime's attention. Speaking of which, Laserbeak has footage that might be of interest to you. It seems that the Autobots are also now aware of the potential these humans have."

Megatron activated his holographic projector showing the image of a suburban garage where a young man was touching the spark of an Autobot scout. The playback focused in on the large spark forming between the human's hands and chest, ten times larger than the tiny spark fragments that gave something approaching sentience to the hatchlings.

"I want to know if it's just Prime's pet that is capable of producing a spark that large. Do whatever it takes to find out, Shockwave. I don't care if you have to expose your own spark or that of every Decepticon on Earth to the conduits.

"My Lord, if I could study Prime's pet for myself, I could tell you conclusively."

"In due time, Shockwave, in due time. It is in our interests to watch how things progress with the Autobots before we take their results for ourselves."


	8. Separation Anxiety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikaela, Will, and Sarah, along with the mechs who share bonds with them, grapple with issues of separation and the greater good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Content:** Refs. Non-explicit human/mech intimacy, xeno spark creation method, **consent issues** (re. changes caused by the AllSpark and the potential for human "AllSpark conduits" to produce new sparks and energon). Decepticon experimentation on unnamed humans. Continued issues around pronoun usage for non-gendered story-verse characters normally referred to as "him" in canon (could be construed as gender bending). Questioning of monogamy.
> 
> _I'm going to be very busy with offline deadlines between now and mid April. I may or may not get a chance to update between now that then. Thanks for your patience!_

"I've been able to bear Will's deployments, his missions. I'm not sure I can bear this."

Ironhide's response was in a tone far more patient and soft than his normal. "Sarah, you must listen to reason. All three of you are being changed by the proximity, not just you and Will. It is not right to prematurely expose Annabelle to those changes, when she cannot agree to them. You must both be sent where you are safe from the Decepticons and from exposure to our energies."

"God damnit! I know that! I know, Ironhide. I just... how can I? Away from you and Will?"

"You can bear it because your spark is strong, Sarah Lennox, even if it is invisible to most sensors. You are cohort. Distance will not take that away. Will can come to you from time to time, and Ratchet will find a way to shield Annabelle and others from changes they do not choose so the two of you can return."

"She isn't going to understand this. She's going to feel rejected and abandoned. She loves you as much as she loves us. You realize that?"

Ironhide was physically unable to vocalize for a moment as he considered those words. "If there is any way possible, I will find a way to remain in contact with both of you so long as it does not betray your position or expose her to my fields. But protecting her is more important than any of our feelings on the matter, including her own."

"What if you guys find out that everyone is changing, regardless? What if this is just the next step for us a species?"

"That is not an acceptable outcome to Prime."

"It isn't like she got to choose who her parents were, either. No, don't interrupt me. I know this is different. But if she continues to change whether or not we are around you, you'd better knock it through Prime's thick helm that we are coming back, you hear me? Now open up."

"Sarah, I will not risk harming--"

"--I. Am. Not. Leaving without touching you again. Open, damn you."

* * *

Will sat with his back against the wall of the hangar, just shy of shoulder to shoulder with the young woman he had an alien kinship with.

"Would you choose differently? Knowing what you know now?" she asked quietly.

He glanced at her, and then at Mirage sitting about a hundred yards away with his... no... her back against the wall on the opposite end, optics dim and by all appearances completely ignoring the two humans' echoing murmurs. The gender pronoun was taking some getting used to, as there was very little that was specifically feminine about Mirage from a human point of view. Will had recognized NEST's error with Arcee when it was already too late to rectify thanks to Uncle Sam's ridiculous amounts of red tape and bureaucracy. 

Even sharing a bond with an alien, Will still had a lot to learn about their culture, not to mention his own presuppositions. It was near inconceivable to imagine Ironhide as anything other than male, even though he understood intellectually this was not the case, any more than Arcee or Mirage were female. Never mind that the male pronoun associated with Hide had been the major inhibitor at first when it came to admitting what he wanted.

He really hadn't signed up to have his brain broken in so many different ways, thank you very much. 

"Would I ever have allowed Ironhide to meet and spend time with my family, you mean?" Will asked, focusing himself back on the conversation at hand.

"Yeah, I guess so."

Will scrubbed his face. He needed to sleep, shower and shave, not necessarily in that order. The same symptoms that had been keeping Mikaela from sleeping were affecting him, though to a far lesser degree from what he understood. He could only hope that the greater distance would mean less issues for Sarah, along with the fact that his wife's bond was with just one mech, and both he and Sarah had already been through 'settling' phase.

"Can't change the past, refuse to regret it. I'm not sure Sarah and I would've made it, to be honest, without what Ironhide brought to us. Deployments are hell on a family. Coming home from them, even worse." He paused for a moment, wondering why he was telling Mikaela so much. He certainly wasn't normally one to divulge that much about his family, even to friends. Ironhide was the exception to that, obviously, and was far more than a friend. "I guess I can only answer that when they figure out if it's really hurting my gals."

"Do you believe it is hurting?" Will couldn't help but to notice both how vulnerable and lonely Mikaela sounded when she asked the question. Ever since seeing her in action in Mission City, he had quietly admired the bravery and natural leadership she possessed. Now she sounded fragile.

"My gut says no. I usually have good instincts."

"I think it's doing more harm to be separated," she admitted. "And I don't like how much it hurts. I don't like needing something this much."

"That part settles down," Will assured her. "Though Sarah and I are only on the periphery, and that might be a factor. We're connected to the rest through Ironhide's bonds primarily, and very secondarily through Prime. At least that's how I understand it."

Mikaela nodded and worried her lip, and Will wondered if he was imagining feeling like there was some sort of energy at work between them that went deeper than normal human attractions. It would be easy to convince himself that it was nothing but human hormones and his own instinctive, masculine ways of needing to give and receive comfort in a situation that had both of them highly stressed, albeit for different reasons. He was accustomed to being apart from his family, but it did not make him ache about it any less, especially with this particular separation. 

"Mirage, any updates from Ratchet? Or Prime?" Mikaela suddenly asked, getting up and walking about ten feet away. Will wondered if she, too, had sensed the connection and was giving herself, or both of them, some space. He found himself thankful for it. 

"I would inform you immediately, Mikaela," Mirage answered in a tone that would have been easy to take offense to, though Mikaela seemed to take none.

Will watched her standing, hands balled into fists, and sympathized. As the only human on base who could truly understand some of what she was going through, he'd felt a duty to stop by and check on her. Optimus had suggested it as well, and had sounded disconcertingly vulnerable in doing so. At least as base commander, Will was busy and only needed to avoid one mech. He could handle it, too, when he did have to brush up against Ironhide's oh so familiar fields. They'd gotten past that 'new bond' stage well over a year ago.

It struck him, once again, that Mikaela had touched and been touched by Ironhide's spark as well. Regardless of whether the energy was imagined or real, he, Sarah, and Mikaela were connected through the crusty old mech. It was odd to contrast that fact with the many unquestioned rules about love and marriage he'd been raised with and had watched his dad break in ways that had hurt like hell. Will had sworn he would be different, and he had been, even during some of the most difficult times, deployed, or at home.

Had something changed so fundamentally in him that briefly contemplating having sex with Mikaela did not feel at all like a betrayal? Was it because of the cohort bonds? 

Touching his friend and partner's spark was in no way equivalent to sex for Will, no matter what Sarah called it. Yet it was intimacy on a level nothing his life could have prepared him for. Felt damn good, too, and what it did to him and Sarah, when they did make love, exposed to his spark? There was nothing else in the world like that.

Will shifted uncomfortably, images of the love of his life and the unexpected partner he could not imagine being without making things uncomfortably tight in his uniform pants. The situation was suddenly made even more awkward by the fact that Mirage stood and walked up the ramp, apparently to stand sentry outside.

Curse Cybertronians and their over active sensor suites.

"You feel it, too?" Mikaela asked quietly from where she stood.

"Yeah," Will admitted, not sure whether to be relieved or to hate himself for admitting it. 

"I found you attractive before," Mikaela admitted. "This is different."

"I know," Will said. "Mikaela... I can't, not without talking with Sarah."

"I know Will, you don't need to say it. I'm sorry. I'm sorry they're away from you. But you should go. This isn't... healthy right now."

* * *

Shockwave wasted no time immobilizing the latest deliveries and rendering them temporarily unconscious. He did not, however, connect the AllSpark's conduits to the devices he had developed to harvest their energies. For now, they were laid out neatly in rows on tables, categorized by the resonance and degree of energy they emitted. Medical drones scuttled over their naked forms, monitoring their status and feeding Shockwave a continual stream of data.

"I have need of your symbionts," he said tersely to his rival who accompanied the delivery. 

"Symbionts engaged: gathering intelligence. Not at your disposal."

"I must expose some of the conduits directly to spark energy. I predict less losses with spark shards rather than full sparks. Lord Megatron has made this project the priority mission. Shall I contact him to order you to make them available to me?"

Shockwave felt the push against his firewalls, but they held firm against the telepath, as did his resolve. Soundwave could not intimidate him. No matter what the rank structure suggested, it was he, Shockwave, more than any of the other lieutenants, who held the position of trust.

He felt Soundwave relent. Both of them knew what the orders would be should the symbiont-master contact their lord. "Frenzy and Scorponok: still regenerating. Laserbeak and Buzzsaw: monitoring the Autobot's conduits. Mission status: highest priority. Ravage and Rumble: available."

"They will do," Shockwave said. "They are to obey me in all matters."

Soundwave did not respond as both symbionts emerged from orifices in his frame. At the same moment, a single data pack did manage to slip through Shockwave's defenses, containing an image of his own frame fully dismantled, his spark available to splinter into dozens of symbiont-slaves should any harm come to those left in his command. It was a threat from his rival Shockwave did take seriously.

* * *

Optimus, as he often did when faced with untenable choices, sought wisdom in meditation. Though his links with the energies of the AllSpark were different now, he could still access those energies across many dimensions via the Matrix. Increasingly, though, his meditations delved not into the Matrix, but into the energies of the Earth itself, a world which his spark and the Matrix insisted was his duty to tend and nurture. After so many years of exposure, the Earth itself sang of the AllSpark's energies, but with distinctly different harmonies than he was accustomed to. Earth had resisted the alien energies that had shaped it, and in the fulcrum of that struggle, life had taken vastly creative and sometimes violent turns. Yet with the destruction of the AllSpark's dimensional form, the Earth itself, as much as its sentient inhabitants, now housed those energies. And they sang.

Was it some strange form of conquest his kind had never intended, or simply the nature of things?

Optimus had learned early on that the AllSpark worked by a different set of principals than those he had sworn to uphold as Prime. It was why a Prime was called upon to mediate those energies. The AllSpark's core function was continuing life with unfettered creativity, regardless of the suffering that might mean to individual sparks. When Megatron had briefly captured the Cube on Cybertron, the AllSpark's agony had not been in creating the sparks for those destined to fight and kill their own kind, but in being forced to do so, restricted by a narrow set of parameters. At other times in Cybertron's history, similar restrictions had been placed upon it. There had once been a vast AI known as Vector Sigma, a relic of another species that had once enslaved their kind. Its sole purpose had been to control the frenetic energies of the AllSpark. It had been destroyed by what it sought to control. A Prime spark, in communion with the AllSpark, could work in partnership with those energies, coaxing rather than controlling, for the good of Cybertron and with the needs and freedoms of individuals in mind as well.

At least in theory. 

For a species as highly engineered as his own, the frenetic chaos of life on Earth was disconcerting. Suffering was the genetically coded reality for many living creatures. Evolution was not a kind process, nor often was the reproduction of genetic code. 

_If God watches the sparrow fall, God must do so from a very great distance,_ a human philosopher had written. The book, one of thousands Optimus had downloaded in his attempts to understand, went on to give one of the many examples of how suffering was genetically coded into the survival strategies of Earth's life forms. Pelicans always laid at least two eggs, the second a few days after the first. If the first chick thrived, the second was ignored, left to starve, or even be killed and eaten by its stronger sibling. The reality for that individual life, from the moment it hatched, was brutality and extreme suffering, then death. It was the spare, only needed should the elder chick fail to hatch, or hatch deformed and defective. 

Optimus could not trust that the AllSpark had imbued human beings with its energies and shaped their evolution for their own well-being and fulfillment. He understood those energies all too well. Perhaps humans were not the "backup chick" any more than his own kind were the "first hatched", but by their very numbers, Optimus knew the AllSpark would consider them expendable resources to reach its aims. He did not trust the AllSpark to have humanity's interests, whether as individuals or as a species, as a priority. As a power, the AllSpark was essentially amoral. Which was where he came in as Prime.

The only way for him to interact with and shape the AllSpark's energies on this world was to continue as he was doing, strengthening his bonds with individual members of the species and his Prime bond with the planet as a whole. 

He had already failed in such tasks once, on his own world. How dare he presume to do so again? Yet how could he do otherwise, when the AllSpark would continue to do as it would?

He had absorbed all of the data and conclusions Ratchet and the science team had given to him. It appeared that he could, so long as the bond continued to strengthen between them, call forth sparks from Mikaela or from other humans bonded with him. So long as their energies were supported by the bonds of their cohort, it was not likely to put them at risk. 

Sam's injuries were due to his fragile form attempting to produce not only a spark, but also the energon with which to nourish it, just as the Cube would have done when producing sparks on Cybertron. Ratchet believed this to be a function of the massive amounts of the Cube's energies that imbued the Sam, and felt a repeat could be prevented. While energon was but a different form of the same energies that made up sparks, unlike spark energy, it was corrosive to organic creatures. The fact that humans, as conduits of the AllSpark's energies, were capable of producing it was astounding yet horrifying. Ratchet could see no way for energon to materialize without the destruction of the human involved. 

Without energon, they could not properly nourish and develop new sparks into fully sentient Cybertronians, and without the AllSpark, his kind did not have energon to spare. The inferior fuels they used were slowly poisoning their own nanites, destroying their ability to self-repair and regenerate. Then again, they had already discovered that merging with bonded humans purified their own energon. Was it possible that continuing to do so would also allow their own sparks to produce it in excess, to be transfused into a new frame for a new spark?

So many possibilities, yet one bitter truth: A relationship he had thought a pure connection of two alien sentient beings through the unlikeliest of cohort bonds suddenly had become a means to an end. 

He could halt it now, though who knew what impact the severed bond would have on Mikaela. Was it right to make that choice for her, even for her own good? Without her and the other bonds, he and his cohort, and the rest of their kind, would find their systems continuing to be poisoned by inferior fuels as they, the last of their kind, slowly came to an end.

Or he could, with all humility, ask his newest cohort member how she wished to proceed, with full knowledge of the fears, potential dangers, and unknowns before them.

As he commed Mirage to request Mikaela's return from her isolation, he prayed to all the powers of Earth and Cybertron, real or mythic, that his choice was the right one for an individual he cherished and a species he was determined would not play the part of the younger pelican chick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sparrow quote Optimus references is from _Science and Religion_ by Holmes Ralston III (Templeton Foundation Press, 1987, p. 140) and was referenced in _Of God and Pelicans: A Theology of Reverence for Life_ by Jay McDaniel (Westminster/John Knox Press, 1989, p. 19). The latter had quite an impact on me about a decade ago.
> 
> It is becoming more clear to me that this story is shaping up to be plot, idea and "meta"-centric, and less about xeno smexings :) I apologize to those whom this will disappoint. That does not mean there will not be more of the latter in chapters to come, but, for one thing, Optimus is NOT cooperating at the moment because of his infamous Prime-sized guilt complex, and he put the kibosh on everyone else.
> 
> Thanks to Merfilly for the ideas regarding energon and the purification thereof. Thanks, too, for the help with this chapter and all of the continued encouragement.
> 
> Finally, thanks to everyone who takes the time to review and share your thoughts. It really encourages me and helps me to continue.


	9. Connections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chance to reconnect and heal brings its own revelations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Content:** Human/mech explicit intimacy (spark, tactile), refs. xeno spark creation method, cussing, **consent issues** (regarding what is choice and what is AllSpark-influenced evolution or coding)

Will wasn't sure if he'd drawn the short stick or was just a sucker, but somehow, someone (coughPrime) thought it would be best for another human to be the one to "explain matters" to the newly awakened Sam Witwicky, the young man who seemed to have all the luck, whether it was good or bad. Given that Mikaela was so very otherwise occupied, Sarah was sequestered with Annabelle in a secret location, and Bobby was still doing his damnedest to stay as blissfully ignorant as possible, it put Will in the unenviable position of being that human.

"No," Sam said. "No. No. No. No!"

"Yes," Will replied helpfully. He had opted for the no nonsense approach.

Sam buried his face in his hands, still pink from the skin that had regrown on them so quickly. "Could this be any more fucked up?" he mumbled.

"I can think of some ways. Megatron could decide he wants to..."

"...Please don't say it. I still have nightmares about him having me in a jeweled collar and leading me around by a leash. Do you know what happens to a guy when an intergalactic tyrant offers to make you his pet? And then comes back from the dead, kidnaps you and sends things up your nose to scan your brain? It does things, Major."

"It's Lieutenant Colonel now," Will offered helpfully. It wasn't that he wasn't patient with Sam. Really, the kid (and when would he stop thinking of him as a kid?) had reasons to be upset. Very legitimate reasons. It was just that Will was someone who believed in dealing with reality head on. Sam spent so much of his time trying to escape from it, at least, that was, until reality caught up with him and running became the practical response rather than the escapist one.

"You got promoted again? Wow, that was fast."

Will's answer to that was a grunt and a shrug. He was damn sure Optimus was to blame for his bump in the pay scale so quickly after his previous promotion, regardless of whether NEST was now battalion-sized. The Autobots took care of their own, and Will had accepted early on that "their own" included him, and had very quickly grown to include Sarah and Annabelle. 

It was the same reason Sam had ended up at Stanford, all expenses paid, despite not having anything close to the academic record required for that. From a Cybertronian perspective, Sam was the equivalent of a new spark without a preprogrammed function, who needed his downloads and integration. It was his cohort's responsibility to make sure he got the training he needed. It was the same reason Mikaela apprenticed with Ratchet.

(Word was that Jazz was making moves to expand her training, and that there had been heated glyphs exchanged between the current mentor and the potential one on the matter. Really, having Ironhide as a source of cohort gossip left Will with far too much information.)

"So, you get a promotion, and I get some sort of freakish bond with Megatron. But we both can make baby robot sparks and possibly feed them, but that part would kill us. Guess that's cool."

"Sam--"

"--No, really, it's all good. I'm fine. I'm livin' the dream. Oh, and to top it off, Megatron might want me to make Decepticon babies, so I need to stay here, drop out of college, and let Ratchet and those freaky science bots continue to do whatever freakish stuff they do to figure out how to help me break that connection. Maybe they should get Professor Snape to help. Next thing you know, I'll find out that I'm Megatron's horcrux. Maybe you all should just kill me now. No sacrifice, no victory, right?"

Will tried really hard not to roll his eyes. He hadn't read those particular books. He'd been just a little bit busy. "Sam, I think Optimus would rather tear out his own spark than have anything like what happened to you happen again. Any of it, but especially the newspark. Ratchet, Wheeljack and Perceptor need to study all of us further, to make sure that more things don't happen that we don't want. These mechs care about you."

The comment about Optimus seemed to stall whatever Sam was going to say next. Instead, he looked down at his hands. Hands that, Will recalled so vividly, only 11 months before had held the Matrix that now lay in the same chest Sam had plunged it into. Will watched a myriad of different emotions flicker across Sam's face, and suddenly his annoyance and impatience was replaced with that same energy he'd felt in the bunker with Mikaela, pulsing far too persistently for him to imagine away. Sam was cohort, yet he was so utterly alone. It was wrong in a way that felt visceral and instinctive to the older man.

Suddenly, the thought of some energy imprint from Megatron making Sam think and feel certain things was more than just a strange and alien concept. It was a dire threat, and Will felt as strongly about it as he would if the threat were to Annabelle or Sarah.

"What?" Sam asked in a tone that was no longer petulant at all.

"Kid, we've got to figure out a way to get him out of you."

Sam met his eyes for a moment, and suddenly it was the same young man Will had, on instinct alone, trusted at Hoover Dam and again in Mission City. The same young man Will had pushed a civilian official out of a plane in order to get to in Egypt. 

"I know," Sam replied softly, suddenly no longer a kid by any stretch of the imagination.

* * *

Optimus' spark literally expanded in its casing as the new, smaller door to his quarters slid open from the apartment he'd asked the build team to install. Real sunlight from the solar tubes silhouetted the tiny figure, even though they were deep underground. Optimus quickly adjusted the lighting in his own quarters to her specifications, solar tubes irising open, the reflections from his various surfaces making the light dance against the walls.

"Hey," she said, stepping in, then hesitating when he did not move toward her as he normally would. The small door slid shut behind her, and she leaned against the wall next to it, uncertain.

"Mikaela," Optimus said, digits twitching with the need to reach out, to hold, touch, and stroke in a manner that was deeply alien to him, yet profoundly right to his spark. It was a primary means of connection with the newest member of his cohort, and made her energies sing a song pulling at him like a gravity well. 

He did not dare touch her until they had spoken, until he was certain that what they had all stumbled so blindly into was truly what she wanted. How could he have been so blind to the AllSpark's manipulations? He knew that bonds did not just form. They were intentional. Yet he had emerged from the haze of his grief after Mission City bonded with humans, and had never questioned it, because the AllSpark had not meant him to. Just like none of them had paused to consider the implications of completing the circuit with her. They had simply done so as soon as she had expressed her consent, exponentially accelerating the changes in her.

"You really need to get over the guilt complex," she finally said, shaking her head and giving him a weak smile.

"What I have done to you is inexcusable, Mikaela."

"Which part? Giving me a family I never had? Making me feel precious? Valuable? Loved? Part of something so much deeper than anything humans have to offer? What part do you feel the worst about?"

"You've been changed..."

"And you think I don't want that?"

"I think, Mikaela, that you had very little choice in wanting that. Our energies have manipulated you into desiring and needing this bond."

"You know, fuck that!" Mikaela's eyes flashed, and Optimus suddenly could see her as one of his smallest but fiercest frontliners, an explosion of armored fury powered by the spark he could not see but which was, nonetheless, a part of her every particle. "Don't tell me what I do and do not want. So yeah, the AllSpark made me evolve into someone who could carry its energy, made me...compatible or whatever. You know what? There's a lot of other crap in my evolutionary history that makes me want certain things, too. Big biceps and a glorified ape who can protect me and my young from even worse apes, even if he treats me like shit. I'm more than my fucking genetics, Optimus. I walked away from the big biceps when I chose Sam, but what I was really choosing was cohort - all of it. If you think my choices would have been any different if I'd known what we know now, then you don't know me very well."

Optimus felt relief well up in him, and it expressed itself in his rumbling laughter.

"What?" she snapped.

"Actually, Mikaela, my biceps, or at least the comparative portions of my frame, are quite large, and I am certain that I could protect you and your offspring from all manner of predators and rival males."

Optimus' optics focused in on her closely as she fought a smile. "Yeah, well, you don't treat me like shit, either. So there's that."

"It is a strange new journey we are embarking upon, Mikaela. I believe that it will change my kind, perhaps even more than it has changed your own. But if there is one constant in all of that change, I swear by my spark that it will be that you always feel precious, valued and loved."

Mikaela rolled her eyes. "And he feels guilty that I might not really want this, but then says shit like that," she muttered to the ceiling, the universe at large, or whatever deity she was calling on. Optimus found himself taking a step to close the distance between then, kneeling down to take her in his hands as he longed to. "What am I going to do with you?" she asked.

"I have an idea," Optimus replied, deliberately using the register and tone he knew made her pleasure centers become the most active.

"Mmmm, I bet you do." Optimus spark nearly surged into overload at the way her energies flared against his own with those words.

* * *

"I want to touch you again."

 _"Say what?"_ was the response, using Chris Rock's voice rather than his own. 

Sam deliberately climbed into his Guardian's lap, leaned his head against the thick chest armor that protected what was so precious within. A hand tentatively cupped his back with near breathtaking gentleness.

"The AllSpark was... it was just trying to get our attention, show us what was possible. It knew it could heal me from the aftermath. It won't happen again. Not unless I... we want it to."

"How do you know this, Sam?" Bumblebee asked, his vocalizer scratchy, spark spinning with anxiety for his ward and most vulnerable of cohort mates.

"The same way I knew that I could bring back Optimus," Sam said with quiet certainty, a tone that Bumblebee trusted as surely as he did the words of his Prime. "The knowledge is always here, if I listen to it," Sam pointed to his head. "I need to get him out of me, Bee. I need to be myself again, or at least whatever I've become. This thing we have," Sam's thumb traced the transformation seam on Bumblebee's chest. "It'll help do that. We've got to make it stronger."

_"Doctor, doctor, please. Oh the mess I'm in."_

"Yeah, you're right. Ratchet should be there to monitor."

Bumblebee was stunned that Sam agreed to that, but then again, it was Sam. Stunning Bumblebee was what Samuel Witwicky did.

* * *

Optimus' spark swirled with sated contentment, coronal fingers receding, leaving behind Mikaela's bare flesh. The glow of her energies were swirling in the same patterns as the spark that had so recently subsumed her. Ecstatic communion now complete, he turned his attention to more practical matters, unsubspacing a container of silvery nanite-rich gel that would assist her own self-healing of the slight dermal damage she took from his spark's UV radiation. 

Though there was nothing that compared to the merging of their energies, so like, and yet so completely different from the merging of sparks, there was something oddly comforting about extending silicone-sheathed fine manipulators and rubbing the gel into her vulnerable skin in long, slow strokes she found pleasing. If sometimes those manipulators lingering and flicking against her nipples, the glans of her clitoris or penetrated her silken, slick folds, Optimus found himself well pleased to be able to remind her of the specific gifts her humanity gave her. He made sure to record her cries and the movement of the tiny muscles of her fingers as they grasped through the blankets to cling to his armor plates. He recorded, too, the expression on her face, so much like that of someone in great pain, yet anything but when she arched and gasped in a different sort of climax.

Through it all, he spoke her name and endearments that made her energy swell again. 

After her third climax, she was panting, shaking, the sheen of her own sweat joining that of the nanite gel. "Would you care for more?" he asked, utterly polite. 

"Oh, Christ, give me a little bit," she murmured breathlessly. He cupped his hand around her as she relaxed into the euphoria that followed such release. 

"I can't believe you were feeling so guilty about this," she finally said when she was no longer panting for breath. 

"I ordered and orchestrated the launch of the AllSpark into space, Mikaela. That our source of life so thoroughly manipulated your world and species without either one's consent is no small matter."

"No, it isn't. But, then again, there wouldn't even be a sentient species on Earth to care if it hadn't, right?"

"That is one of the paradoxes, true."

"But it's the other one that is tearing you up the most," she said with the kind of wisdom and insight cohort bonds brought. 

"Mikaela, I will never ask you--"

"--You don't have to. I'm going to. Ratchet can study me to his spark's content until we figure this out."

Optimus found that he did not have a response. The new coding that demanded he protect humanity and preserve this world was twisting amidst and vying with older protocols that gave him the responsibility for nurturing his own species, both responding to the oldest code of all that created the pathways for cohort. 

"Why?" he finally asked, his tone vulnerable to his own audials. 

"Optimus, how many of you guys are there left?"

Optimus accessed the pathways of his Prime bond that allowed him to briefly touch on every spark that existed within this temporal reality. 

"There are 762, Autobots, Decepticons, and neutrals," his words came with something like a growl.

"Optimus, there are almost seven billion humans. There were more humans in my high school than there are living sparks. Why do you even need to ask? How could I not want there to be more of these?" she deliberately moved herself close enough to his still open chest to reach toward the coronal fingers that were suddenly not content with their retracted state.

The conflicted code suddenly came into an alignment that sent a wave of purpose through Prime's whole being. He would be certain they made choices worthy of the second chance that was being given to them, of the trust his cohort sister was placing in him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Thank you to everyone who continues to encourage me on the direction this is taking. It would be very difficult to stay with a multi-chapter story like this to the end without that kind of encouragement (I'm in awe of those who actually do all their writing first without that kind of feedback). If I could hug you all, I would. Instead, I hope you enjoyed the return of the more explicit intimacy in this chapter. Muses, hormones, and stars aligned! I will be extremely busy the next several weeks, so please don't expect more updates too soon, though that is what I said last week!_

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Debriefing](https://archiveofourown.org/works/243558) by [femme4jack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/femme4jack/pseuds/femme4jack)
  * [Femme](https://archiveofourown.org/works/278738) by [femme4jack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/femme4jack/pseuds/femme4jack)
  * [Let's go snuggles](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1285402) by [Infect the Fandom (BossBot97)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BossBot97/pseuds/Infect%20the%20Fandom)




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